


Allure

by SlashyUnicorn



Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Supernatural, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Exhibitionism, Fuck Or Die, In which every main character is a supernatural creature except Winchester and Illya, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sex Pollen, don't really need to watch supernatural before reading it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-19 09:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4740719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashyUnicorn/pseuds/SlashyUnicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which supernaturals and humans teamed up to prevent the world's destruction. And there were sex involved.</p><p>----------------------------------------------</p><p>He was walking down the street when he saw it. A dark haired man, complete with his impeccable suit, kissing a woman passionately in an alley. He thought nothing of it. Many people in this cursed country of the free seemed to do that without carelessly anywhere and everywhere. </p><p>But then the woman’s knees buckled, the man supporting her did not seem all that worried about it. In fact he chuckled in delight, as if things like that was something he experienced often. Something was wrong, and he had learnt to always trust his instinct.</p><p>He took a closer look; saw a fleck of blood outside the man’s lips, which he licked clean, green eyes shining in the dark corner of the alley. Weirdly enough, Illya’s own cock began to stir in his pants and he gritted his teeth, quenching it down like he used to do back in mother Russia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I almost finish this fic, and I was actually going to post this as a one shot. But then I thought it'll be too long for one-chapter fic. So I decided to break it off.

_Allure:_  
_Noun_ : the quality of being powerfully and mysteriously attractive or fascinating.  
_Verb_ : powerfully attract or charm; tempt.

\----------------------------------------------

When Illya was a child, he saw two other people at his neighbor’s house along with her, kissing his neighbor on her lips, over and over again, something that his parents never let him see. They covered his eyes every time someone did it in front of him, ignoring his annoyed protest and swats of hand. 

At first he thought they were just doing that. They had been standing there for hours. Eventually he got bored. He was about to head back inside his room from this second floor hallway of his house and closed the window of his room when his neighbor’s body dropped on the ground. 

_Dead._ His neighbor was dead. Eyes opened as she stared at nothing. But she looked like she was…happy. Pure happiness, right before the light completely gone from her eyes.

He gulped, lifting his head to look at the strangers. He stared at the man and woman in his neighbor’s yard, still standing, satisfied look on their face, blood and saliva coating their lips and chin.

They noticed him, and they grinned with bloodstained teeth, putting their index finger in front of their mouth as a sign of silence. Illya’s eyes widened. He quickly closed the window, heart pounded with fear. One minute more and they will kill him. He was sure. He could feel it. There was something—something weird and unnatural about them. Especially their eyes. It was glowing with green light behind it. Only robots have glowing eyes (he asked his father, that one time after they went to the cinema, with him having nightmares about evil robot dominating the world).

He ran to his mother’s room, hugging her in tightly as he climbed over her bed. “What’s wrong, Illyusha?”

He shook his head, small body shivering in fear under the cover, but eventually he spilled it all out. When he was finished she scolded him for snooping around the window, and him not being careful enough. “You could have died, Illyusha!”

So she put him in her lap, smoothing his unruly hair, as she began to tell him stories about Succubus and Incubus, demons with green eyes who will drain human’s life. 

\----------------------------------------------

As he grew up, Illya joined the SVR to atone for his father’s sin, being a criminal in his own home country that cost his mother’s life. Focusing instead on the real human trash, worse than any of the demonic story that his mother loved, dirtying the world with their existence and bad deeds. Cleaning them up one by one. Made the world better.

He forgot about those stories his mother told.

Stories were for children.

\----------------------------------------------

He was walking down the street when he saw it. A dark haired man, complete with his impeccable suit, kissing a woman passionately in an alley. He thought nothing of it. Many people in this cursed country of the free seemed to do that without carelessly anywhere and everywhere. 

But then the woman’s knees buckled, the man supporting her did not seem all that worried about it. In fact he chuckled in delight, as if things like that was something he experienced often. Something was wrong, and he had learnt to always trust his instinct.

He took a closer look; saw a fleck of blood outside the man’s lips, which he licked clean, green eyes shining in the dark corner of the alley. Weirdly enough, Illya’s own cock began to stir in his pants and he gritted his teeth, quenching it down like he used to do back in mother Russia. Desire for men was unnecessary thing. But despite that, he still got them from time to time, although never this strong.

Frowning, he turned back on the street, deciding that anything happened was not his to deal with. He was here undercover. No need to add other things that could blew his cover. He started walking again when heard a crash from the alley. The man still stood, but his eyes no longer green. Is the glow before the trick of the light? But the alley itself was barely lit, light from nearby building flickered on an off as a form of illumination.

And somehow, he remembered the tale that his mother told him before. It floated just like that to the front of his mind. The green eyes, the sexual acts, and the blood did match the description his mother gave. But stories were not real…right?

He walked back to the alley, just out of curiosity and the pull of his instinct, and he was in time to see the man dropping the woman, her body slumped on the wall, seemingly lifeless. With eyes in pure bliss like his neighbor before.

Like a switch being flicked on, he suddenly felt the need to pursue this man. He should not let him go. This man was a criminal and he must be punished. He started moving, legs taking big steps as he began to chase the man down. The other, sensing that someone was approaching him in speed, turned his head towards him. He gave Illya a brief smirk, brushing his suit in the process.

Then he ran.

That man was fast, faster than any man he knew. His steps were so smooth it looked like he was gliding rather than running. Illya cut sharply on a corner, then another, until he saw that the man had stopped in front of a brick wall. He had cornered the beast at the dead end of the alley. “You have nowhere to run, murderer.” He approached the other, purpose in his stride.

All the man did was giving him a sigh. “Don’t blame me for this, alright. Your started it first.” His voice was deep with certain drawl to it, came out of a finely shaped lips. Lips that surged forward to kiss him hard, connecting both lips in hungry kiss. Illya moaned, surprised, but quickly kissed back as passionately as he could, his body moving as if it was no longer his own when a sweet smell and taste entered his senses. His cock thickening in his pants.

He tried to gather enough will to push the man back. But he cannot. His body felt weak and powerful at the same time. _What is happening—?_

Illya did not want it—he really didn’t. But he needed it. _He need—_ He did not know what he need.

He growled, hands moving to the man’s buttocks, squeezing hard. The man in the suit hummed; hand strayed down to unbuckle Illya’s belt and sneaked his hand inside his boxer, stroking his cock lightly while biting him hard on his neck. He could feel the skin break, the man sucking and licking the blood that seeped through it.

In a way, the thought of this man, this particular man, ravishing him under the dim light of the street making him warm all over, and he came in his pants, squeezing his eyes shut against the wave of pleasure. 

That was…embarrassing. Never before he finished like this, not even when he was really young, barely in his teenage years.

Panting hard, he slump on the wall, similar to the woman before, uncaring of the stickiness in his underwear. He looked up to the other’s eyes (again, it was green), his eyes blurry as he saw the outline of the man’s body, licking his hand clean and chuckling at him, giving a final kiss on his brow. 

He lost his consciousness.

\----------------------------------------------

Later, he found out that the woman was, in fact, not dead. She made it safely to her house, none the worse for wear except a slight headache. She praised the man’s sexual prowess with dreamy eyes; despite not actually doing any of the sexual intercourse except kissing and necking. She told him the man’s name was John; obviously a lie, and that she met him in a bar.

Illya went to that specific bar. And as he waited on one of the stool, he exhaled tiredly. Of course the man will not come back. His hunting ground had been discovered.

\----------------------------------------------

Udo Teller, a German rocket scientist who used to work for Russia but then defected to America, went missing. His superior, Oleg, a man with serious demeanor and absolute strictness with rules, asked him to find anything he could do about him. And maybe his daughter, who also went missing recently. 

Gaby Teller. 

Anything he could get, as their dear old friend America already knocking on their door, accusing Russia of kidnapping back their scientist. Apparently Udo was working on some really important project. This could potentially make both countries’ relationship worsen, and starting the World War III was not in any of the countries’ plans.

He did everything they told him to, diligent soldier that he was, but something seemed amiss. They told him to get Ms. Teller, but…

She was dead. 

Three days later he found a death certificate. Covered up nicely that someone would not know what it was until they searched specifically for it through multiple bribes and convoluted channel. It said that she was dead since 1989. Twenty years ago, at the age of six.

He wanted to say that this mission was a joke from his supervisor. But he knew there was no joke in the line of duty. Especially his.

\----------------------------------------------

Oleg called him to his office. The old man sat on his chair, behind his big mahogany desk, gesturing for Illya to sit on another chair in front of his desk. As he sat down, he could see that he was about to be told something big. His superior was darting between him and the stack of folders on his right side, and then sighed tiredly as if making up his mind about something.

"Are you a religious man, Illya? Do you believe in the higher power?" he asked, suddenly, folding his hands on the table in contemplation. What was it for? Everyone in the force knew that he was not. Illya looked back in confusion.

"No, sir. I'm an atheist." He wringed his hand nervously on his lap. “Is it going to be a problem, sir? Do you need a religious sleeper agent? I could—“

“No, not a problem at all.” He closed his eyes. "Just want to warn you that your...unfaith is about to be tested.”

Illya opened and closed his mouth, perplexed on what to reply. “If I may ask, sir. What is this all about?”

The question he asked was answered when his superior suddenly stood, his figure becoming more and more imposing as he grew, _and grew._ Now in front of him stood a giant skeletal figure, his head full of long hair white. His head touched the ceiling, back draped in black cape. 

Illya eyes widened, chair scrapping against the floor as he abruptly moved back in alarm. He slipped and fell to the floor briefly in his panicked state, but soon enough got up and whipped out his hand gun, aiming on the abomination’s head. 

“Do not waste your bullets. It is not cheap and you will not be able to kill me with those.”

He shot anyway, emptying the clip on him. Always was a rebellious agent. The creature sighed. He waved his right hand and the bullets stopped, right in front of his chest as if some sort of power was holding them afloat. On a snap of his fingers, they hit the floor, clinking against the floor.

He would never admit it, but at that time, right in front of this monster that looked like corpse coming back from the dead, Illya’s hands shook around the handle of the gun.

“My real name, young Illya, is Koschei. But you may continue to call me Oleg or ‘sir’.” His cape moved as if swayed by the wind, even though all the windows were closed. “This information might be beyond your clearance as the early human agent, but we need you on this mission, so there is no other choice. “ Oleg finally shrunk, changing back to his human form in a slow but sure motion. Illya had always thought his superior was someone dangerous. Eyes dark with some sort of forbidden knowledge and experience. Now he knew why. Oleg was not even _someone_ , but _something._

Grabbing the folders from before, he threw it across the table. The front of it was labeled ‘Supernatural 101 : Classified’. “KGB, and now FBR and SVR are all part of an organization that controls and limit human-supernatural interactions and criminal activity. Our chief, Mr. Waverly, asked personally of you for this mission, and you are to work with our American-based agent.” He straightened his cuffs, eyes glinting dangerously. “If you are to refuse or feel inadequate for this mission, I’m afraid we have to…dispose you as a liability. Only people who are involved may know about the supernaturals.”

They did not give him any choice, Illya thought, standing in the middle of the office with empty gun on his hand, clenching it tightly. Still not ready to let it go. Processing the information longer than he usually was. “I will do it.” He swallowed thickly, his heart still pounded fast in his chest. He covered his shaking hands with the act of grabbing the folder, trying to flip it casually (but he knew he failed). “Is this all of it?” He was not able to shake the fact that his boss was _not human._

Oleg frowned, as if he could read Illya’s mind (and maybe he could. Who knew what kind of power that ‘Koschei’ possessed?) “You will be given more once you landed in London. Head to our Headquarters inside The Shard building. Password is in the folder.” He leaned back, indicating the end of their conversation. “Now go. Time is short.”

\----------------------------------------------

He went to London, and it turns out he had to wait for another three days for Mr. Waverly. The other still in Germany dealing with other matter. Such bad time management. Not to waste time, Illya used the days to stuff his head full with the information he got from Oleg and also did a little bit of research of his own. They did not mention more about the organization, or complete information about the creatures. Just a little bit here and there for the essentials.

Incubus and Succubus were mentioned on it, in brief passing. Apparently they were real. And a master of deception. So good and charming that it was hard to guess which facts were real and which were not about them.

Stories apparently were not just for children.

\----------------------------------------------

Napoleon was drinking his coffee at the nearest coffee shop he could find near his hunting ground that also happens to make fantastic sandwiches when Saunders showed up. He was wearing his usual getup. Dark blue suit and tie, light blue shirt, and dark trench coat. Sitting down at the chair in front of Napoleon, looking every bit as if he owned the place, even as he knew this particular coffee shop was really a place where most of the supernaturals hanged out. 

One of the gutsiest human Napoleon had ever met. No wonder he was the head of CIA, one of the organization that was part of the American-based supernatural control. There were also rumors that he once slayed a horde of zombie by himself, deep in the remote Mexican forest. But who knew it was an actual truth or not.

“Saunders! Hey boss, how’s it going?” he greeted with fake cheerfulness. His boss was not amused.

“What’s going on, Solo, is that you’re not careful about your meal.” He took his hat off, calling the waiter to order a cup of cappuccino.

He grimaced. “Sorry about it. Went on too long about a meal. Won’t happen again, I swear.” He slouched more in his seat. “That guy was one hella good runner though.” And the tastiest meal he’s ever had. Repressed desire and vicious need to satisfy his urge? That kind tasted the sweetest.

Saunders sighed. “ _That man_ turns out to be SVR agent.”

“Shit.” Ah damn. But how was he supposed to know? It was either kill or be killed. Or more likely, fuck or be killed. The other surely more preferable.

“Yeah. And now I want you to go to London. Consider this payback for me covering your ass.” He pulled a brown envelope from his coat which Napoleon pretty sure contained the essential things he’ll need on his new mission. “You have been recruited by Mr. Waverly, our chief in London HQ to work with him.”

Napoleon raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Waverly? The super important big boss up there?” Napoleon gestured above him. He knew Waverly. Sort of. The reclusive leader of the supernatural-control agency. He was one of the founders of the organization, but even his contacts weren’t able to find out much about it. Not even the official name.

“Yep. And you’re gonna have to work with the SVR. Joint mission.” Saunders’ coffee came, and he took a sip of it, uncaring of how hot it was.

“He’ll kill me.” It was unbecoming of him to whine about this kind of thing, but he was ninety percent sure that Russian brute was going to kill him. Or at least giving him excruciating pain. The other ten percent was about him fucking Napoleon, _and then_ kill him.

Saunders, that bastard, just shrugged. “He won’t. Not sure about maiming though.”

\----------------------------------------------

When Napoleon arrived on the café, two men were already there. One, a man with expensive black pinstripe suit that quickly became his favorite just because of how classy he was in it. He looked like he was in his mid-fifties, but Napoleon knew that old eyes and chain of gold pocket watch anywhere. Not someone he’ll mess around with. Ever. So this was the true identity of the head of his organization…

Interesting.

The other was a tall man in a dark brown jacket with black turtleneck and dark jeans. Napoleon frowned at the choice of clothes. He _loathed_ jeans with passion. And _that_ turtleneck. What, did he think they're still in the sixties?

Waverly looked up, sensing someone nearby, “Oh good, you’re here. Agent Kuryakin, this is the man that I told you before, Agent Solo.”

The man turned, and their eyes met. Eyes widened for a fraction, as he grabbed the lapels of Napoleon’s suit and growled, readying his fist for a punch. 

_Here it goes._

\----------------------------------------------

That man—that was the man on the alley! The Incubus that slipped his chase. Illya was about to bash him straight on the jaw when time seemed to stop. He blinked, and suddenly he was seated again on the chair, with Waverly drinking tea, relaxed, and the other, Solo, sat in his chair, with the same confused look. It seemed Waverly did something that none of them expect. “What did you do?”

“Just a little something to ensure that I won’t be kicked from this favorite café of mine. I would absolutely hate it if that happens.” He put his cup on the saucer. “You won’t like it if I’m angry. No one would like it, not even me.”

Illya was about to argue when Solo waved his hand, melodic voice flowed easily from his mouth. He could see now how people could be trapped in them. Including him. It sounded like there was a magic in it. Just enough hypnotic power to influence his victim. “Just ignore it. Arguing with Father of Time totally not worth your time. He’ll find ways to debunk your argument or maybe turn you into a frog out of boredom. He’s lived here, what? Forever?”

“Let’s just say from a long, long time ago.” Waverly said, sipping his tea while casually checking his watch. Which made Illya had a sudden vision of the tale of Alice in Wonderland, somehow. The white rabbit that constantly was checking on his pocket watch.

“See?” Solo gestured as if saying him to leave it.

He gave them a look, disbelieved. “Father of Time?”

“More like Father of Zeus. Now, can we get on to the other matter at hand?”

Chronos, god of time in Ancient Greece’s mythology, farther of most of the main Olympian God. He who ate his own children. He knew now why he was given this kind of lesson, back in the orphanage he was in that specialized as a cover for child-agent training. God…god was real. He did not know what to say about this.

He decided to let this matter slide, but not with Solo.

Illya narrowed his eyes accusingly, moving his body forward on the table. Holding himself back so that he will not try to knock Solo’s smirk off his face. Again. “I know your kind, Solo. You are _Демон._ The Demon from Hell. The soul stealer.”

“Well yes, but that would imply the concept of soul changing hands is real—“

“ _Суккуб_ —“

"Hey I resent that. Never mention Succubus in front of me again. I hate their kind.” He sneered, pissed at the name of his kin. “They’re my race’s female counterpart but much more...slimy. Thankfully, not in literal sense.” He shuddered. “All of them also sadistically evil. There, I just gave you all you need to know about Succubus."

Undeterred by the distraction, he marched on. “I know you are _Инкуб._ ” He spat. “Filthy Incubus. You suck people’s life out. You kill people. You and Succubus both. No difference.” He got much satisfaction from seeing the other flinched.

“For the record, who is it that killed the most? Human, with your unnecessary war between your own kind. Especially your country. Russia, right?” He gave Illya a smile, but it was sharp, as if he was planning on sucking his life dry. The tension that they had in front of them was almost tangible, sweet and electric on his tongue. His body itched for a fuck but he trampled it down harshly, digging his nails on his palm to distract himself. The demon continued his ramble.

“And it’s not even for food. I had to eat or I’ll die. You humans don’t have to kill others for that. Not for a long time.” He crossed his arms, defensive. “Besides, I never kill my victim. Never the one who doesn’t deserve it anyway.” Solo sulked on his chair, childish pout grazing his face. “Only selective few of us made regular kill. They’ll be taken care of by our respective organization.” Then he seemed to remember something. “Anita made it home safely right?” Napoleon touched Illya’s shoulder in a casual touch. He jerked the hand roughly.

“Do not touch me.” He snapped.

“Wow. Okay, racist uptight guy.” He held his hands up. “Anyway, answer the question. “

“She did.” Illya reluctantly answer. 

"In my defense, I'm actually just going to drain the energy a little bit, but I got carried away a little. She probably felt a little lightheaded, but not dead." He leered at Illya’s whole body, eyes lingering on his lips. “Not sure about you though.”

This man was insufferable, and Illya’s rage slowly raised itself. He knew he had to have a better control over his temper. Cannot let himself gave in to temptation of anger. As he mulled over what Solo said, he took a slow breath to calm himself down but catch a whiff of something sweet. He thought he imagined those before, on their first encounter, but the smell was real now, he can feel it. Sweet as a vanilla cake his mother used to make, back when he was little. Incubus’ pheromone?

He did not realize that he closed his eyes until he heard Waverly sighed. “Please don’t. You can have sex _later_ , when the mission is done.” He paused. “On the second thought, feel free to have sex, but wait until I’m no longer here. For now, the mission.”

Illya leaned back against the chair, feeling a bit ashamed of his arousal, and the fact that his pants tenting slightly under the table, but he focused on his rage, and soon it deflated. Solo winced. “Oops. Apologize. Sexual tension made my pheromone go haywire.” 

Growling, he was about to grab Napoleon’s lapels, again, when Waverly cuts in. “Now, now. Let’s not discuss such trivial matter of race. You can’t fault him, young Illya. A man has to eat after all. Agent Napoleon Solo here is the CIA's best supernatural consultant and agent.” 

He looked back at the man, proper and dapper, and he gave him skeptical look. This man was the CIA’s best man? The agency must be desperate. Decided to relent at least for now, he replied. “Fine. Chronos, tell me the plan.”

“I prefer Waverly. What I did as Chronos was…unsightly of me.” It was more disgusting than unsightly, and Illya was about to correct him when someone came else came to their table.

“You did say you were young when you did it. We all made mistakes one time or another.” A woman cuts in, walking towards their table in her red and white dress and white floppy hat. Charming and deadly, from the way she carried her multiple concealed weapons on her medium Gucci bag and under her dress. She sat on a chair beside Waverly with ease. Gaby Teller.

Illya thought he could no longer feel the surprise from the supernatural information. Turned out he could. “Read about you. You are dead.” Then he hesitated. “A ghost?”

“Please. Ghost don’t have physical form. I’m an Alp.”

Solo oh-ed. “Sexual demon made from dead children’s spirit. We’re practically sibling.” He extended his hand. “Napoleon Solo. Incubus.”

She smiled, mischievously, and taking Napoleon’s hand in a firm handshake. Then she looked at Illya. “And what do we have here. A human? Surely not, sir?”

Illya bristled, but he held his tongue at a look from Waverly. “We need him as a joint venture between the world. You, as a child of two worlds. Napoleon, supernaturals. And Illya, human.” He paused. “Also, we are definitely going to need him in this mission.”

“Ooh that sounds like it’s going to be exciting. Tell me more.”

They were about to exit the premise of the café, and proceed to the actual HQ (so inefficient, they could just met in the HQ in the first place, but he cannot complain when they went to the HQ using Waverly’s teleportation power, curious about the supernaturals technology) when Illya saw it. On the corner of his eyes, a woman with the light golden hair, almost gold. She lingered in front of the window of the shop across the street, but when Illya turned his head fully towards her direction, she was gone.

_Has he gone mad?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KGB (old) = (now split into two) Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation (FSB) and the Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation (SVR RF)
> 
> Creature :  
> *Koschei (Immortal old man in Slavic mythology) : http://www.ancient-origins.net/myths-legends-europe/slavic-legend-immortality-koschei-deathless-002717
> 
> *Alp (from German folklore) : "The alp, in many cases, is considered a demon, but there have been some instances in which the alp is created from the spirits of recently dead relatives, more akin to a spirit or ghost."
> 
> "Not to be confused with the similarly named Alp-luachra, the alp is sometimes likened to a vampire, but its behavior is more akin to that of the incubus."
> 
> *Incubus (derived from Late Latin _incubo_ (a nightmare induced by such a demon); from _incub(āre)_ (to lie upon).)  & Succubus (derived from Late Latin _succuba_ "paramour"; from _succub(āre)_ "to lie under"). They're basically sexual demons, in case you didn't know.
> 
> *Father of Time : "Father Time is usually depicted as an elderly bearded man, dressed in a robe and carrying a scythe and an hourglass or other timekeeping device (which represents time's constant one-way movement, and more generally and abstractly, entropy). This image derives from several sources, including the Grim Reaper and Chronos, the Greek Titan of human time, reaping and calendars, or the Lord of Time."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won't be able to post next chapter in the next couple of days. We'll see though.

With the arrival of Gaby, the official agent from the London HQ, they commenced the beginning of meeting at the base. “Our organization is called U.N.C.L.E. United Netherealm Command for Law and Enforcement.”

“That is so lame.”

“I know, right?”

Illya stayed silent as Waverly gave a warning glance at Napoleon and Gaby, but he could see the Russian giant subtly looked away and tried to hold the upturned of his lips. “Our organization specialized in handling the supernatural and their interactions with human, preventing big scale casualties from both side.”

Their boss put some pictures of a woman on the table, petite blond woman with sharp eyes. Napoleon recognized her right away. “Victoria Vinciguerra.” Known as one of the socialite in the circle of Succubus. They suspected her kidnapping Udo. Apparently, the scientist was also a renowned summoner, who started his career ever since he successfully summoned his dead child’s spirit and raised her as an Alp. Nodding along with the conversation, Gaby looked like she was fine, but Napoleon saw cues here and there, trained to be almost unnoticeable, that she felt thankful and hateful of his father at the same time. She wasn’t dead, sure. But living as a sexual demon wasn’t all powerful energy and orgy. He had firsthand experience of it.

Based on the information one of their agents gave, she had a basement beneath her mansion in Rome, located in the outskirt of town, which connected to the nearby forest that they could use for an escape route. Hide a vehicle, maybe. Or teleportation circle. It can’t be used for entry route though. She was rumored to have security system that detected all living being that entered her domain. All who entered must be known to her, and she will be able to put a name to every single faces, and remember the one that she didn’t recognize. The later usually ended up with stranger’s body down in the river or on the ground.

She was going to hold a party on the lavish mansion, and will only let sexual demons in for her sex party. Only the ones that were socialite circle could get close enough to her, so Napoleon had to go. He was briefly part of the circle back in London, a few decades ago. In his wild youth as an unruly young Incubus. 

Gaby could get in as a backup, she met with Victoria before, but she could never get close enough to Victoria, since she wasn’t part of any socialite circle. Napoleon was to distract her, and steal her necklace, which contained the gem to open the door, swapping it with the fake one. Get in, see what was inside, and then get out. Sound simple enough. The other problem was; Illya also had to go. As Napoleon’s sex slave. Humans can only enter as slave, or in more fitting term, cuisine for the demons.

“No.”

“Peril, don’t be unreasonable.” Already he began to call him with this nickname he took out of some information he remembered the old Russia. Illya Kuryakin, agent red peril, stern and formidable.

“I will not be your…food.”

“We only have to be there probably for half an hour, tops. You don’t have to do anything.” He looked straight into Illya’s eyes, but the Russian evade his look.

“Oh? Forgive the mistake. Thought it was birthday instead sex party.” He said sarcastically. From the way he paced, Napoleon could see how uncomfortable Illya actually was, covering it up with his huff of disdain. “An orgy of demons.”

He wanted to put his hand on Illya’s thigh or shoulder or anywhere in his body to calm the other down, used to physical contact working in his benefit, but this guy loved his personal space, hog it like treasures to a pirate. Instead he put more, let say, Incubus magic into his voice. The tone usually calmed people down. It didn’t work as well as he thought it’ll be, with the way scowl still adorned Illya’s brows. “I’ll find a way around it, relax. But you probably still have to wear this. “ Napoleon held up a big metal ring for him to see, silver and simple. “For precaution and sort of 'identity' for slaves.” Then add more as he saw the other’s confused look. “This is, ah, a cock ring.”

Illya’s eyes widened, already starting to walk back to the door, clearly agitated. Napoleon was at loss at what to do. Anymore use of his power and the other will notice and the outcome would be, he shuddered, messy.

“Let me try.” Gaby said, patted him for assurance on the shoulder. She approached Illya like he was a distressed animal, cornered and ready to lash out at a single move. She said a few words, quiet and patient, not using her power but instead her natural charm and good intention and the man…caved. 

Finally. 

He snatched the ring from Napoleon’s hand, sulky, and walked out in silence, right after they were finished with the briefing.

\----------------------------------------------

He might have reluctantly agreed with Gaby, that Napoleon Solo, that particular Incubus, will not deliberately take advantage on him in the party, one week from now. But it did not mean he trusted him.

Incubus preys on the weak. On the innocent. But Illya was not weak, nor innocent.

\----------------------------------------------

They flew to Rome, and immediately did surveillance. Two days in, they were done sweeping the perimeter surrounding the house and forest. Planting bugs here and there with mini drone and tryng (and failing) to hack the security system inside because they were not a conventional one, but complex combination of supernatural artifact and traps (and with Napoleon insisting he called him by his name, not his family’s name, they were temporarily friends, he said. _And friends should call each other by their given name_ , he said again, winking at Gaby, who agreed enthusiastically). 

As they wrapped up their equipment, Gaby cheerfully suggested that they had lunch on that restaurant they passed on, far away from the mansion, that she had been _dying_ to try. Illya rolled his eyes. 

Eventually he resigned himself that, he was the only adult on his team (affirmed by the many, many pranks and puns). The chance of him reaching his boiling points of exasperated patience climbing higher every day and one day, oh one day he will get so fed up with supernatural puns that he will punch one of them in the face, he was sure.

They arrived at the restaurant, Napoleon flirting with the waiter already, basking himself in the attention of the girl. Blond and innocent. She scrawled her phone number on the napkin when she got back to bring their food, adding swagger in the way she walked. Napoleon ogled it without even blinking. “You, are shameless.” Illya shook his head in disgust.

Napoleon tsk. “Attention is one of the forms of my food. Sort of like candy.” He continued with scooping up his truffle risotto, putting the spoon in his mouth with a vulgar sound. Closing his eyes, they changed to green when the eyelids were lifted. Not glowing like before, no. But it was darker, like the colour of pine leaves, wet after a rain. Gaby gasped. “Your eyes went kind of weird there.”

“Ah, this?” He said, eyes returning to his usual shade of blue with a blink. “They become green when I eat. More if the source is people. Only certain people can look at the change of colour.” Looking at Illya, he hummed. “But I guess you mostly know that already. I can still hear your scream. ‘Stop! Glowing man!’” He chuckled. “I’d laugh if you weren’t chasing me with murderous eyes.”

Illya huffed. “I was compensating for the lack of name.” His brow furrowed. “Never mind that, you can eat human’s food? Then why do you—“

Sighing, he scooped another spoonful of risotto. “Because, it’s not enough.” Swallowing the meal, he asked. “What do you know about Incubus?”

“That you eat people’s energy in sexual acts. Through, hm, fluids.” 

Smirking at him, Napoleon answered. “Just say it like it is, Peril. Semen, blood, sweat, saliva. Any kind of fluids I can get from human during sex.” Wriggling his eyebrows, he said. “You can say I suck the life energy out of people. Literally.”

Gaby giggled when he gave her another wink. Illya cursed his luck to be stuck with these two demon children who will always use innuendos in anything.

“Actual food, on the other hand, means converted energy. Carbohydrate, protein. They gave very little energy, compared to the energy I get during sexual encounter.” Leaning back on his chair, he looked That’s why people can die when sexual demon drains too much. They die from exhaustion.”

Inclining his head, the thought about different scenario. “But what if the people are not aroused?”

“They will. As you know before, I have pheromones that’ll affect almost all that smells it. But only if they are willing for intercourse in the first place.” He released some of it. Illya could feel his cock getting hard as he shifted in his pants, trying to carefully make his pants less tight. Few other people already stared at Napoleon’s direction, nose flaring and eyes dark. “Stop it.”

He glimpsed in Gaby’s direction. She looked interested in their conversation but seemingly unaffected by the pheromone. He _was not_ thinking or willing to have intercourse with the demon. He was not—He was jolted out of his pondering when Napoleon kissed him to prove a point. “Napoleon!” Illya barked, startled. Shoving the other’s shoulder in irritation.

“How do you feel?”

Now that he mentioned it Illya did feel worn out around the edges. Deciding to concentrate on his mind to focus, he refused to be toyed by the demon’s whim. He was angry at himself for letting this happened. Angry at the Incubus for being so careless and easy. Napoleon’s dirty tricks will not have any more effects on him. 

His erection (thankfully) deflated. But once again he was kissed. “Solo, if you kiss me one more time—“

He still had the bread knife in his hand, tempted to use it. “And what about now?” Napoleon said.

Illya did not feel any more tired than before. “I can sense people’s arousal, and now that I know you’re pissed at me and unwilling, it won’t give me any energy. “ Then he sobered up. “So you can see consent is important to Incubus.” Illya can see how serious he was about it. “And also to me personally. Won’t and can’t force anyone who doesn’t want to do it.” He gave Illya a knowing look. 

Ignoring Napoleon, instead he glanced at Gaby. Wondering. “My work is a little different than Napoleon.” She nodded, but not to elaborate more on it. She swirled the wine in her glass. “I did short research, a few years back. Off the book, of course.” She typed on her phone, then showed the screen to Napoleon, the man scrolling through pages of study. “Some people thought energy comes from chemicals affecting the blood and brain chemistry during sex. I’m not exactly sure how it connects, but it might be useful.”

Chemical released during sex? "So you eat chemical dopamine. Also oxytocin?" Illya point out. This whole thing might be more scientific and less supernatural than he thought. Good. Science was predictable. Supernatural? Not so much.

"Maybe. Haven’t seen any extensive research yet on any sexual demons and I never been in any situation where I have to use it.” He reached inside his suit, pulling out a pen of clear substance. “But I always carry one tube each with me. For emergency."

Illya filled the information he gathered for later. They (he) might need it in the future.

\----------------------------------------------

They did some other side mission to wait for the party. Hours and hours of surveillance and reading about target’s information. Gaby hadn’t eaten in two days. She just wasn’t in the mood. Potential targets were all awful. And now she was bored and hungry. She looked at Illya, expression serious as he studied the file Waverly gave them. She smiled, wickedly, standing from her seat. Stopping beside Illya, she moved her lips closer to Illya, but the man leaned back, eyes wide, nervous and trapped.

Illya fidgeted, looking uncomfortable as he tried to shy away from Gaby’s ministration. "I do not know if you realize it, Gaby, but I am a—“ He hesitated. “A homosexual." The way he said this sounded self-depreciative but also resigned at the same time. 

Gaby frowned at that; decided she’ll ask about it later. No one should ever felt bad about their sexual orientation. Instead she continued her mock play. Teasing Illya was too much fun sometimes. "Yes I know that. I'm not asking for sex or anything. Just energy.” She feigned surprise, as she already knew he would act this way. “What? You think I want sex? I did say my work is different right? I don’t really need the sex." Predictable, with Alp’s ‘similarity’ with Incubus, of course his mind went to the gutter. She smirked. "You dirty boy." Alp drew energy from dreams, aspiration, soft kisses. But Illya didn’t need to know about that.

“But you. Uh. A sexual demon. And I thought. Ah. I apologize.” Illya stammer for answer as Napoleon walked in. He looked between the both of them. "What? What happened?" 

“Our dear Illyusha thought I was about to ask him for sex”. When the Russian turned his head, Gaby could see how red the tip of his ear was at the moment. He was embarrassed and it was so cute. Gaby and Napoleon continue to snicker, hearing Illya muttered, about how sure he was that they were conspiring to get to him, somehow.

\----------------------------------------------

Illya woke up with a jerk, body covered in sweat and underwear wet as he unconsciously came in his dream. It was vague, but he could remember bits and pieces, of Napoleon whispering in his ear, coaxing him to fulfill his inner desire, repressed throughout the years of diligence and training. 

He cleaned himself up, washing his underwear in the bathroom and setting aside the blanket to be washed, ashamed at how weak his control was. From how big he talked of not wanting Napoleon, he actually did want that infuriating bastard. The demon crawled under his skin and settling himself there, releasing more of his damned pheromone. Trapping Illya in endless circle of desire and denial.

This current obsession that he had might be just a mere infatuation. But he doubted it. He did not do infatuation. He will not get into something if he was not one hundred percent sure. He glared at his body. It had betrayed him. Or did it?

He meditated, an activity that he did regularly to control his emotion and desire. His mind cleared off a bit, and he did additional exercises. Push up, sit up, stretching. Anything to block the Incubus from his head.

But by the time he was about to take a shower, his mind strayed on Napoleon again. His soft lips and enticing voice, and soon enough he was hard yet again. He hit his head, over and over on the bathroom wall, hoping pain would distract him, but when it did not work, he jerked himself hard, uncaring of how raw his hand felt without lubrication. He came harder than he used to, biting his arms to held his moan back, the other’s name already at the tip of his tongue.

When they met up, his team mates silently inquired about the bruise on his forehead. He lied, covering the blue mark with his cap. He said that he slipped on the tiles. 

Their disbelieving laughs were better than the truth.

\----------------------------------------------

They were in the middle of the gunfire, pinned at the corner of the alley. Nowhere to run, and the gunmen were closing in on them. Gaby heard a clutter of a gun being thrown on the pavement, Napoleon discarding his empty gun and clenching his fist, determined to do something. Definitely about to be impetuous. “I’m going to distract them. You two, cover for me.” Then he turned towards Illya. “You, try not to breathe alright?”

In an instant, Gaby knew exactly what Napoleon’s going to do. But she didn’t have time to pull him back as he readied her gun, covering him as he ran towards the gunmen’s barricade, releasing his pheromone as thick as he could, and punching the gun out of the dazed gunmen in process. She could feel Illya stiffened up beside her, but then he strode with purpose, shooting the rest of them in the head with precision.

It looked like they got them all, but when Napoleon turned back; one of them appeared from behind one of the cover, ready to shoot him on the head. Gaby was quick with her gun, snipping the man from the distance. 

But shot was already fired.

Illya threw his body, shoving both him and Napoleon from the line of fire, bullet grazing his shirt and wounding his shoulder. Gaby scanned the area until she was sure the place cleared up before checking in on them. 

They were fighting like usual, bickering about one another’s safety. Which meant both were not heavily wounded. Thank god. 

“Could have died, _tupoy_!” He cornered Napoleon on one of the brick wall.

“I did what I had to do. You think you had another solution? We were outgunned and outnumbered.”

“Anything except being reckless!”

She could feel a headache forming on her temple. “Now, now, boys. Stop fighting like children.” She shouldered her weapon back. “The important thing is, you’re alive. He’s alive. We should be thankful for that.” Checking Illya’s wound, she sighed in relief. Just a graze. It won’t need any stitches. When she straightened back, the sight stunned her.

Both of them still stood there, in silence, face close enough to kiss. Napoleon looked grateful and disbelieving that Illya saved his life (but also a little pissed at Illya’s argument), and Illya looked angry with Napoleon’s recklessness. At this point she just wanted them to just fuck already. All this sexual tension was making her hungry. 

Illya was closing in, and Gaby thought that they are finally, finally going to kiss but then he reared his head back, head-butting Napoleon so hard on his temple that the back of his head hit the wall behind him. “Ow! It hurts, you Neanderthal oaf!”

The Russian hissed. "Do _not_ make me changed my mind about saving you, Cowboy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian word :  
> Tupoy = stupid


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm back. Update'll probably will be slow, since I rl just kickstart itself back into my life. Probably once a week.

The time has come for them to infiltrate the Succubus lair. Napoleon was smoothing the lapels of his three piece suit, white shirt covered with dark blue vest and suit jacket. Complete with the dark blue tie. Beside him, also in Saville Row suit, stood Illya. He wore a white shirt and a dark grey suit jacket, completed by the black tie. 

He looked handsome and stunning, and Napoleon licked his lips shamelessly behind him. The outfit was a bespoke one, and it fit him so well, from the broad of his shoulder until the slope of his spine and hips. Made to enhance the firmness of his ass. Napoleon had to be really careful not to release his pheromone, after seeing such irresistible body wrapped so perfectly just for him just for tonight.

They hid small gun with silencer and smoke bombs, plus a couple of charm and anti-magic in the hidden pocket of their suit, a blessed and enchanted knife on each of their calf. Other weapon, they strapped on their wrist, or disguised in the watch. Even Illya’s collar and chain were enchanted. They also drew some charm on their bodies with non-permanent ink. Anti-possession and nullification of curse. They’ve used special spell to make all of it invincible to other people’s eyes except themselves. Hopefully they won’t have to use any of it. 

Napoleon put the collar on as a final touch, attaching the leash on the small handle made of steel in front of it, disappointed that he didn’t get to put on the other ‘leash’ on Illya’s cock. He could feel the other’s throat convulsed when he swallow, suppressing a smirk at how nervous the Illya was. He smoothed the lapels of suit as well, an excuse for him to touch the lean, solid chest. “Ready to go? Remember, we’re going in blind without support except Gaby. Victoria always checks for earpiece.”

Illya raised one of his eyebrows at the gestures, but he chose not to comment on it. “ _Da._ Let us go.”

\----------------------------------------------

When they arrived on the lair, the mansion they used was huge. Vast garden covered the front of it, and it ended when pavement started in near the front door. A thick forest covered the back of it, which was a perfect place for their escape plans later, provided that the guards will not guard it as good as the other part of the mansion. 

The garden itself was guarded by dogs, and guards in black with a visible gun. Illya snorted. Easy. Napoleon turned at the sound, following Illya’s line of sight and moved closer towards him, lowering his own voice. “You do know that they’re not human, right?” urging illya to activate the camera at his contact lenses, and he did, the lenses worked by receiving signals from his brain.

Both the man and dogs changed into an abominable creature.

Illya almost stepped back in shock, if not for Napoleon’s firm hand on his arm and collar, making it seemed like he was the one who jerking his slave. He swears inwardly, cursing himself of not getting used to the supernatural world. The creature looked like a large lion, with a head of the goat sprouting from its back, looking at the opposite direction from the lion’s head. Its tail was that of a serpent, hissing and turning in multiple directions. Perfect guard dog.

The creatures seemed to switch job, some of them pose as human and the others pose as dog, switching jobs just in a blink. Illya gripped Napoleon’s arms tighter. “Chimera.” He said. “Better not to spook them. Once they targeted you it’ll be hard to get away.” He pulled the chain lightly, more for an act, but Illya followed Napoleon slowly, acting subdued. Or as subdued as he could manage, slouching his tall frame a little bit as to not be too noticeable.

Inside the three stories mansion, everybody stared at Napoleon when he entered. Some looked at him with envy, some with disbelief, and some with appreciation. “Look who’s back. Napoleon Solo.” Victoria herself approached them when she noticed Napoleon came in. “It has been such a long time since you come to my party.” She kissed both of Napoleon’s cheek and he did the same, greeting so chaste for sexual demons that it looked out of place, but in fact was actually customary greeting for the race. 

Her eyes flickered towards Illya. “And who is this delicious looking man?” she was about to touch his neck wither her perfectly manicured fingers, but thankfully Napoleon stopped her before Illya could flinch. He took her hand and kissed it instead, looking apologetic. Victoria raised one of her eyebrows. “Dearie, you know I never share my favorite toys.”

Illya held back his bristle by biting his lips and ducking his head, as if embarrassed, but his fist clenched automatically and Victoria saw that. “You caught yourself a feisty one, I see.” She sniffed. “Fine. You don’t have to share. But on one condition.” She slowly circled them both. “You have to be our opening act.”

“Victoria…”

A warning glance from her and Napoleon sighed in defeat. Another refusal, she might suspect something was wrong. “Alright. Whatever you want. You’re the host.” He sneaked an arm around Illya’s hips, acting possessive. “But I want to wait until all your guests are here. Don’t want any of them to miss how wonderful my pet is.”

She laughed, in the similar melodic tone as Napoleon, but somehow hers made him feel sick. “Suit yourself, honey. You always do love to brag, don’t you?” She sauntered away to the new arriving guest as Napoleon dragged them to the back of the room, both of them seated now at the mostly-hidden couch. Thankfully, none of the other guests tried to talk with Napoleon again. 

“This’ll give us some time. Illya—“

“What are you doing.”

Napoleon winced. “Please don’t use that tone. It makes me feel like I’m about to be scolded by the school principal.” They sat there for some time, until the room was filled with groups of supernaturals and their pets. Napoleon stayed silent, an act so unusual that it started to grate Illya’s nerves. When he deemed the room full enough, Napoleon nuzzled Illya’s neck, making him stiffened at the uncharacteristic act. “Napoleon—“

“Ssshhh. Just. Give me a minute.” Illya felt his cock beginning to stir in his pants and the demon inhaled it deeply, humming in approval. “Look, I don’t have much time to explain. But basically I’m going to suck your cock and you have to let me, okay?”

Illya turned his head, and from afar it looked like he was reciprocating Napoleon’s move but he lowered his voice and whispered. “What do you mean? We agreed not to do—ngh—that.” A soft moan escaped him as he felt Napoleon beginning to lick stripes on Illya’s neck, purring.

“Either that or gets busted. Victoria will never take no for an answer. Should’ve known she’d choose me to entertain her.” He bit Illya lightly, on the juncture of his neck and he bucked, hips moving to rub his cock lightly against his pants. Around him, he began to notice people gathering around them, attracted to the smell of arousal and pheromone like moth to a flame. “…fine. But make it quick.”

“I’ll try.” But Napoleon himself sounded uncertain. His mouth trailed down Illya’s neck, tugging his tie and shirt collar open, peppered soft kisses on the collarbone, he opened the button of the suit and the shirt, slowly, one by one, his mouth following down, stopping at Illya’s bellybutton to lick it, huffing a silent laugh when Illya twitched, tongue tickling the slight dip in his stomach. The bastard kept doing it and he swatted the shoulder lightly. He was not amused.

The spectators gasp, perhaps unused to the deviant act of supernatural’s slave, and Napoleon bit his right hip in retort to reassert his dominance. When he finally opened the zipper and pulled down Illya’s underwear, his cock sprung out, red and flushed, pre cum dripping from the crowned head. Cock ring gleamed under the light of the mansion, tightly circling the bottom of his cock.

He had a feeling Napoleon would be salivating already if they was not surrounded by other sexual demons. Napoleon glanced up, once, and then he went down on Illya’s cock all at once. Illya threw his head back, his cries shaky around the edges as he fought not to lift his hips and just choked the other with his cock. The way Napoleon’s tongue moved was sinful, as he managed to circle around the head while sucking him from the root to the crown all at once. 

He thought that he would be more reluctant to this blatant display of exhibitionism, but he found that he could not care less. Focusing instead on the feel of Napoleon’s warm tongue and soft lips and even a little bit of teeth on his cock, pleasure heavy verging on pain where the teeth grazed the surface of his cock and his balls and the head of his cock.  
Illya gripped Napoleon’s hair, breathing labored. Suppressing his need to come. Hands of another who watched reached out towards Napoleon to touch his back or his head and Illya instinctively slapped it, hissing at the other demon. “Do not touch him.”

Instead of anger, the demon licked his lips. “My, my, passionate boy isn’t he? The sweetest scent I’ve ever smelt. Are you sure I can’t have a taste? Just a little bit?” One of the Incubus, an elderly man with hair graying on the side reached out and tried to touch him instead and Napoleon quickly pulled back, green eyes glowing in the dim light. He snarled, baring his teeth, feral. The first time Illya saw the wildness inside Napoleon’s eyes, making desire thrummed in his blood. The man recoiled in fear at the possessiveness that Napoleon showed. “He’s mine. No one touch him. Are we clear?”

Other demons who surrounded them nodded, stunned. Only Victoria chuckled in delight. “He’s right ladies and gentlemen. Wouldn’t want Napoleon Solo on your bad side, I’m sure.” Seemed Napoleon had some sort of feared reputation in the demons community. He had to find out more.

“Thank you, Victoria.” He went down again on Illya, sucking continue to suck in earnest now, no longer teasing. And Illya looked down to look at Napoleon’s lips wrapped around his cock, and a stray thought entered his mind about Napoleon’s past ‘pet’. He growled at the thought of Napoleon with them, wondered if he was as possessive as he pretended to be right now with him, whether he did the same thing with them, made the same lewd and pleasured face exactly like the one he made now. 

He tightened his grip on Napoleon’s hair and fucked his mouth harder, snapping his hips and shoving his cock deeper and faster inside. He could feel the head hitting the roof of Napoleon’s mouth. It kept going and going and now Illya could feel it on Napoleon’s throat and he realized now that _the man has no gag reflex._

Orgasm was wrenched out of him when Napoleon releasing the clasp holding the ring together, Illya shooting down his seed deep inside the other’s throat, groaning and squeezing his eyes shut. He slumped down on the couch, tired and drained, trying to open his heavy eyes. 

When he finally able to open it, his outfit was tidy once more, along with the tie. He was glad that he had not turn on the recording and photo function on his lenses. Napoleon would probably have a field day with the recording. Traumatizing Waverly and conspiring with Gaby to spread it among his friends as some sort of AV for demons. Speaking of Napoleon…

He was sprawled beside him, arm curled tightly around his hips, looking sated but alert, eyes scanning the room that somehow had turned into a full on demons-pets orgy. “We could probably sneak out right now, while they’re distracted.” He slipped his hand inside of his pocket, and Illya could see the gold necklace glinting behind the pocket.

Illya stood, feeling a little tired but he brushed it off as he straightened his suit. “Let us go.”

\----------------------------------------------

Napoleon and Illya clearly ‘managing’ their problem very well, and so Gaby sighed, deciding to sit in the corner as well as she tuned in with her ‘ghost channel’, sort of radio waves (or sometimes television) for ghost. Sometimes she could hear passing vital information. If she delved deeper she could even converse with some of the ghost, but it’ll require getting into trance state and she’ll be vulnerable. Now probably the best time for it, since everyone was distracted.

She managed to find two spirits. But they didn’t look right. The first had golden, shining hair, his skin pale, like any other ghosts she met, but it slowly turned into the skin colour that she used to. The living kind of skin. The second ‘spirit’ not even one, her hair gleamed gold as she sat on the throne, regal with golden dress and crown in her head. She was saying something, and Gaby tried to read her lips. 

_‘Go. Find me again in the place where you all belong.’_

She reached out for her but instead her hand hit something solid. It was Victoria Vinciguerra’s breast. “Sorry!” she quickly took back her hand, her cheeks blushing bright red.

“Fraulein Gaby. You should say so if you are interested in joining the orgy with me.” Everybody in the demon world knew everybody, so of course she met Victoria before. They had a rather…interesting night a few years ago in Paris. She smiled knowingly. Gaby knew she wasn’t fooled for a second. Victoria saw what she was doing and now she needed to find a way out. Fast. Then she could proceed to the woods to cast the teleportation spell for all of them.

“Intriguing, to meet you here. Since I heard last that your father is still missing?”

Gaby gave back a confident smile, even as her heart pounded in her chest. “Yes, he is. But even I need a break now and then from the search. Where’s your husband?” she said. Anything to distract the Succubus from something remotely sexual.

“On vacation with his mistress. Don’t worry about it, honey.” She said casually, as if Alexander Vinciguerra did it often enough for her not to bother with it. Victoria approached her, prowling like she found her preferred victim. “Don’t you want to…” she whispered next to her ear, low and seductive. “…continue from last time?”

She shuddered in fear and lust, Victoria’s pheromone strong enough to affect even her. But then she was saved when some guests were making a fuss at the other side of the room. Victoria sighed dramatically. “Pity. Until next time then.” She kissed Gaby’s cheek then wandered away.

Gaby knees almost buckled in relief. But she can’t do that. Not yet. She had a job to do.

\----------------------------------------------

Once they managed to unlock the door, putting the necklace to deactivate the first layer of trap then disarmed the second layer by careful logic and extensive knowledge of mythology that Napoleon had, they ended up in a big and dimly lit room. A study, full of mahogany and teak furniture, few books cluttered around the floor and tables, empty chest, black and heavy on the floor.

Napoleon activated the camera on his lenses and they transmitted his feed right to HQ for Waverly to see. He saw a painting of a man in the middle of the study, cluttered with old, dusty books and parchments. The man was pale, with shining and long golden hair. His clothes were all white. All sorts of weapon lay uselessly at his feet, with people gathered around him as if to see his greatness. A king and a queen sat enthroned at the back, pleased look on their face. The man was about to be shot with another arrow from another man in front of him. As an antique enthusiast, Napoleon felt he had seen this painting before. The frame of the painting was worn, as if it was moved or touched a lot.

Curious, Napoleon pressed the edge of it, searching for dents and it clicked, revealing a safe behind. It was the kind that needed number combination and intricate spell, but Napoleon put anti-magic on the door of the safe, shaping it like pentagram to deactivate the need for spell, leaving him to easily disarm the safe’s wheels. He smirked smugly when Illya approached. The other just rolled his eyes.

Inside, they found a small scroll, the paper fragile and old, the title written in what seemed to be Old Islandic, language of the Old Norse mythology. It was all gibberish to him, and he regretted not dipping his head on the language. He always felt like it was terribly dull compared to other ancient languages. But even he could see that it was some sort of ancient poem. He gave it to Illya, who rolled it back and put it in his pocket. Another thing inside was an amulet, face of a man with two horns sprouted on the left and right side of it. Napoleon pocketed it.

They checked everything, but nothing looked important so they moved closer to the other exit, opened, but led to, as Napoleon predicted, the famous King Minos’ Labyrinth. “Well I’ll be damned. Didn’t think she was serious when she said she would like to claim the labyrinth. How the hell did she move this from Crete?”

They were reluctant to use it because, obviously, Minotour might be inside. But it didn’t seem to matter anymore as on the third bang, the door opened to reveal the actual Minotour, outside the labyrinth for once, in all his glory. Half man, half bull, black horn sharp and gleaming under the room’s artificial light. White loincloth covered his pelvis, leaving little to imagination. The creature growled and snarled, snapping Napoleon’s attention to his face, and _my god what a big axe he had._

Deactivating the camera, he ran through the door while throwing a smoke bomb along with his knives in the direction of the man-bull’s face. Big mistake. It roared and swung its long and big axe, narrowly missing Napoleon’s head. They ran for their life.

They had no time to linger around now when they were chased by the monster inside the Labyrinth. It was good that Napoleon had asked Gaby to enchant the regular thread, turning it into Ariadne’s thread (for precautions since it could be useful in any kind of labyrinth), the silver strand invincible without the rune that Napoleon carefully put on the lenses. It will lead them to the other exit.

Along the Labyrinth, it was clear that the place had been altered, modern machination and traps filling the walls and floors. All kinds of torture device and traps anyone ever imagined. There were spiky walls that snapped when Napoleon leaned on the wall to avoid being slashed in half by giant swinging axe, complete with half rotting corpses spiked on it, and Illya almost triggered it by stepping on the fake floor. A giant ball rolling to crush them to pieces was activated once they both opened the wrong door at the same time. They hid in one of the room that turned out to trigger auto-mechanism of arrows from the wall. And Illya, thankfully, ducked in time, avoiding the first arrow, a golden arrow, shinning at the tips with sweet smelling poison that might be the Cantarella, supposedly used by the Borgia family to eliminate their political enemies. He had to admit, the Vinciguerras knew their toys.

They were near the exit to the woods when Napoleon was stabbed by stray arrows. He fell down and hit the back of his skull, the arrows digging painfully deeper as his back connected with the floor. He had to be dragged outside by Illya’s strong arms, thankfully away from Minotour’s reach, as he was apparently unable to cross the threshold of the Labyrinth. 

He quickly looked down, ignoring his dizziness and fearing the worse, but fortunately they weren’t the golden arrow. Both of them were the silver arrows, with the power so strong it pierced his shoulder, near his heart at the first spot and another on his right leg. Both arrows pierced so deep they went out from the other side. It seemed to be enchanted to suck his blood out, the longer it stayed on.

Of-fucking-course. Just his luck.

\----------------------------------------------

Illya closed his eyes, cursing in Russian. Napoleon had pulled both arrows quickly; making it cluttered on the ground as he gritted his teeth so he will not cry in pain. He wanted to berate the other for his action but stopped when he saw the blood on the arrows disappeared, seemingly sucked inside the metal. Modified or magic arrow. _Blyat._

He was bleeding heavily. Blood gushing from hole in his shoulder, the flow heavy just like the one in his leg, wet and warm. Illya quickly got rid of Napoleon’s upper clothes and rolled back one leg of pants, staunched the wounds and wrapping it with a small roll of bandage he always brought for emergency. It never hurt to always be prepared, and with his experience of getting wounded, it was better than tearing their clothes to dress the wounds. He put the clothes back on slowly and rolled down the pants, the chill of the night no use for the wounded man. Napoleon had hit his head on his way down, still squeezing his eyes but trying to turn his head towards Illya’s direction.

“This…really isn’t the best way….to die.” Illya cradled the head gingerly in his hand, careful because of his injury, checking for bumps and blood. Not bleeding, but there was a lump on the skin. Concussion.

He patted Napoleon’s cheeks lightly. “Hey. Hey! Dopamine. Where?" The Incubus should still have his vial. 

"Left pocket." Napoleon gasp, was blinking his unfocused eyes, but the colour of his iris changed into murky green. Illya stopped for a second. Stunned by the change. “Your eyes. Different kind of green. Something is wrong, yes?”

“Yep. Means I’m dying.” He laughed, even at the verged of his death, and Illya’s heart beat down faster than usual, already running multiple scenarios to solve the problem. He would smack Napoleon on the head if it will not make his injury worse, angry at the thief’s casualty at death. “Be serious.”

Illya continue to search the chemical, running his hand on the pockets of Napoleon’s pants. Accidently, he brushed against Napoleon's hard on. "At this time?" he shouted, frustrated at the other’s inability to take anything seriously. He stabbed the dopamine pen he found with more force than necessary, furious. 

The demon’s eyes focus a little bit more. "Can't help it okay. My body compensate for lack of energy.” Bleeding’s slowing down, but the wounds still not closing. The blood on bandages still spreading, albeit slower than before. Napoleon glanced at it (or trying to). 

“You still bleed. What went wrong? Said dopamine works!"

"For emergency? Sure. It's like epi pen, compadre. Sort of." He tried to shrug, but winced when it jostled his shoulder. “Anyway, as you can see, it’s only temporary solution.” Voice trailing off as his head lolled to the side, on the verge of unconsciousness, jerked only when Illya shook him lightly. “Your energy from before and the pen prevent me from completely shut down or went into shock, but my body needs more."

Napoleon stole a kiss from Illya’s lips, sudden and surprising and Illya almost gave in, but he pulled himself back, away from that tempting mouth. The man was injured; he would not take advantage of it. A glance at deepest wound, however, indicate that healed a little. Before Illya could say anything, however, Napoleon jerked, catching himself when he was about to lean forward towards Illya’s lips. "Reflex.” He said, as an explanation. Looking reluctant to let the lips go. “We better move on before I do something you’ll regret." 

Illya shook his head, instead offering his lips to Napoleon. “Take more. You need energy.” 

Sweating bullets, his face and lips pale, but still Napoleon pushed at Illya’s chest weakly. He could feel how the other’s hand trembling in strain. “No. No. I have no control in this condition. You’ll die.”

Insisting, he pulled out something from his pocket. “I have this.” He showed Napoleon a tiny bottle, the inside softly glowing blue. Energy seeds. They will grow inside human bodies to be harvested, especially during sexual intercourse. But the effects were unknown. Normally, he would not even ingest anything dangerously unknown, but this was a matter of life and death. He did not know why he care so much for this demon. Abomination from another world. 

“Waverly gave the bottle. For emergency.” Knowing he had to force it, Illya tipped Napoleon’s head, gently, and kissed him on the mouth, lightly at first. Passionate when he felt how responsive the other was.

\----------------------------------------------

Napoleon gave in to the kiss, powerless to refuse relieve from pain. The taste of Illya’s mouth so sweet. So good. Energy flowing from the other’s mouth to his mouth, his throat and into his body, mending wounds little by little but it wasn’t enough.

When Illya moved back, he whined, needing more, but they had to get to the rendezvous point first. They wasted enough time as it was. Illya lifted Napoleon to the passenger seat of a vehicle that was already waiting on the outside (maybe from Gaby or Waverly?), drove carefully on the clearing in the middle of the forest, made specifically for this vehicle. It didn’t make any sense, but Napoleon was too tired, struggling to keep his consciousness. They arrived on the circle, Gaby waiting inside and quickly teleported all of them, destroying the circle in the process.

When they arrived at U.N.C.L.E’s Rome HQ, Waverly waved them at the entrance, knowing the situation. “I’ll prepare his meal.”

A growl sounded from his stomach, as Napoleon was getting hungrier by the minute. It was embarrassing, but the mention of food making him both horny and hungry.

“No. Let me.” Illya lifted Napoleon on his arm, refusing others who were going to take him to infirmary to maybe feast on some other homeless people they had for this occasion. People who won’t be missed even when they were gone. But the Russian was determined that he was the one who will save Napoleon. His knight in shining armor. He chuckled, earning a frown from Illya. Perhaps thinking he was too far out of it.

Illya splayed his body on the bed that Napoleon recognized as his. His blood pooling on the white sheet. "What do you need?" he asked, discarding their clothes, ruined and stained with blood, unconcerned about it and their nakedness while Napoleon stared at the bespoke outfit in mourning. 

When asked whether or not he was sure, Illya nodded, irritated at Napoleon’s reluctance. They kissed again, and Napoleon closed his eyes, savoring the taste. 

Alright. He gave up. “Don’t blame me if you’ll end up dead later.” Napoleon’s not really lucid enough for this but hey, the guy offered. He didn’t have any energy to even sit up so he motioned the other to kneel, each knee situated between his head. Illya braced his hands on the headboard; letting Napoleon opened the zipper with his teeth while he drank the energy seeds, putting the empty container on the bedside table. Pulling half hard cock, Napoleon sucked it into his mouth as if his life depended on in (it was).

No more teasing or casual licks, he deep throated Illya, hollowing his cheeks, almost can’t fit the shaft, long and adequately thick, inside his mouth. Dark blond hair curling on the base, tickling his nose as his sucked in earnest, swallowing pre cum that formed on the tip already. He pulled at Illya’s ass, bare and firm, squeezing it lightly. Pulling back slightly, he said, “Fuck my mouth.” Illya complied, letting himself free and fucked his mouth in unrelenting pace. Napoleon didn’t gag (can never gag), but the motions were harsh on his throat. He could feel the tip of Illya’s cock painfully digging into his throat, and it convulsed to make a room, swallowing more in the process.

Napoleon hummed, moaning shamelessly around Illya’s cock, and the other shuddered. He heard something snapped and Napoleon looked up, in time to see Illya throwing a part of the bedpost that he ruined on the floor. Their eyes met and Illya gasp. Huh. He loved to be watch; Napoleon filed this for later use. When he was about to come, Napoleon used all his strength to keep Illya there and he came, coating Napoleon’s mouth.

It wasn’t enough. 

\----------------------------------------------

Illya sat back on his heels to avoid crushing Napoleon’s face, breathing hard as if he ran a mile. He unwind the bandages carefully, and he could see the wound in leg was healed, and the one in chest stopped bleeding. Illya felt a hand on his chest. "Come on, hurry up and fuck me." He heard what the other said, insatiable and begging with glazed eyes. Napoleon shoved Illya behind him, turning to his side with a healed leg and folding one of his legs and exposing his hole. His eyes shined green with sort of glassy quality to it. 

It felt wrong to ravish an injured person. But Napoleon needed this. Needed him. He should not hesitate (he did not need him anymore, the he could just re-bandaged the wounds. But his desire screamed at him. To fuck him. Fuck him hard and gave him his cum until he was healed and safe and Illya no longer had energy to spend. Dangerous thought).  
He moved away towards the bedside table, where he was sure Napoleon kept supplies for sex when a hand stopped him. “No condom. I need—“

He nodded. “Lubricants?”

"Second drawer.”

Illya pulled the tube out, coating fair amount of it on his cock, and then threw the bottle on the floor. He settled behind Napoleon, helping to lift his leg and plunged his cock, hard again as refractory period shortened by the substance, perhaps, like some sort of otherworldly Viagra, into the other’s body, willing and pliant. Napoleon's hole greedily sucked him in, as he groaned in pleasure, body covered with sweat and blood and he was beautiful. 

Like a gruesome art piece.

Illya fuck him vigorously, unable to withhold his grunts. Breathing hard, he smelt the pheromone in the air, thick and potent. He bit Napoleon’s neck, licking the blood and Napoleon keened in pleasure, whispering next to Illya’s ear to come inside him. Illya did, grabbing Napoleon’s hips so hard on his hips, feeling the flesh give and molded, finger shaped bruise already forming. The demon shouted, then, his come shooting far into his jaw and chin, some spilling into the sheets, mixing with his blood. 

He dropped his trembling arm, and Napoleon’s leg along with it. He felt tired, eyes heavy. He snuggled deeper into the other’s nape, kissing it lightly. Falling asleep to the sound of Napoleon content hum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically porn. Porn and information and tiny bit of plot. Eh.
> 
> Russian word :  
> blyat = fuck  
> da = yes
> 
> Illya’s cock ring : http://www.amazon.co.uk/health-beauty/dp/B008Y4I9CA
> 
> Depiction of Loki in norse mythology : http://norse-mythology.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/Loki.jpg
> 
> Chimera : "Usually depicted as a lion, with the head of a goat arising from its back, and a tail that might end with a snake's head, the Chimera was one of the offspring of Typhon and Echidna and a sibling of such monsters as Cerberus and the Lernaean Hydra."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a day of (of sort) so I decided to post it earlier. Next chapter might not be so early.
> 
> Dean and Sam in the chapter, finally. For those of you who haven't watch SPN before, basically it's the show about hunting supernatural creatures. The main characters are two brothers, Dean (older) and Sam. Castiel, or Cas in short, is their angel companion starting from S4. Others will be explained in the fic.
> 
> For SPN fans, this is AU post S5. Basically all that happen after S5 didn't happen, Sam got back safely from hell. But they did find Man of Letters' HQ. Destiel is in this fic, although not explicitly explained (sorry Winchest fans).

When Napoleon woke up, he actually panicked.

He remembered last night, inadvisable sex with the human while he had no restrain on his desire (three times a day from one source. Wow). It was dangerous and Illya would’ve died if not for the energy seeds. And so, the first thought on his mind was, _‘oh shit did I kill him?’_

But then the hand on his hip registered and he turned, still keeping the hand on his hip. There he was. The Russian giant sleeping so peacefully. Frown line disappeared from his eyebrows. He looked softer. Younger. With his usually slicked blond hair flopped messily on his face. “Stop looking. Creep.”

He was surprised when Illya’s eyes suddenly snapped open, roving around him to check for injury, settling on his face when he deemed it satisfactory healed. Napoleon flopped himself on Illya’s chest, and the other grunted at the weight. They stayed like that for a while, savoring the rare silence and calm, uncaring of the destruction of blood and ruined sheets and pillows around them. “Last night, you were scared. That I might die. That’s why you volunteered.” He circled his index finger distractedly on the other’s chest. “You didn’t trust other people.”

Illya sniffed. “Roman medical intern is inexperienced in dealing with supernaturals. Your chances of survival will be…” he pretended to mull over yesterday. “Ten percent. Tops.”  
“Oh? And you have it? Experience?” He said, looking at Illya with suggestive look. 

“ _Da._ ” He shrugged, as if there was any other answer, but he didn’t agree or disagree on the scared part. He sat down slowly, and Napoleon reluctantly rolled back on his back, seeing the wince that Illya tried to hide.

“How do you feel?”

“Sore.”

“Hm. It’s to be expected. Maybe until tomorrow. I suspect it’s the side effects from energy seeds.” He chuckled, as Illya frowned at him. “What?”

“Can’t believe we just fell asleep with all this blood crusting on our skin.” He grimaced. “Want to be good to the environment and shower together?” Napoleon smiled, lewd and inviting. 

Illya hesitate, but eventually let himself be dragged by the Incubus.

\---------------------------------------------- 

“The place was mostly abandoned, like they knew we were coming.” Napoleon sat on the biggest couch on the room, still feeling a little bit tired from his wounds before.

Waverly nodded, sipping his morning tea from his cup of fine china with intricate flower pattern on it. “They probably had a seer in their midst.” His voice was light, but Napoleon could detect an edge behind it. He was worried about how much the seer knew about them. “I’ve seen the footage. It seemed they didn’t leave much for us to find. The book scattered around, empty boxes on the other side of the room. They packed before you arrived.” He put the scroll and the amulet on the table, already checked for curses and bugs. “We only have this as the clue. Might be a distraction, might be carelessness by her minions.”

But Napoleon looked up at the footage instead, opened on the screen in front of them. “Yeah, but there’s this one other thing that bugged me the most about the room though. See there.” He pointed on the largest painting in the room. “The frame was overly worn. Won’t be like that if the painting was just for show or even cover for the safe. This was worn because of inspection and change of hands. Victoria isn’t that careless with her genuine art piece. And believe me, this is the real deal.” He was sure of this, remembering their short time together, back when he was still in the circle. She was just as meticulous as Napoleon, especially on paintings, since it was her favorite, more than the others like sculpture or carving. 

“And now I remember that I stole a panting like this once. Although, I didn’t sell it to Victoria. _Each arrow overshot his head_ made in 1902 by Elmer Boyd Smith. It was the painting about the shining god.” He pointed again, this time on the opened scroll. “Can’t read this, but I’m pretty sure this is Old Icelandic, language of the Norse Mythology. Definitely a pattern here.”

“Ah.”

From the look Waverly gave them, it might be bad when there was a chance that a god was involved. A glance at Illya, standing stock still in the middle of the room, told Napoleon that the Russian was confused and impatient. “Who is this shining god?”

“Baldr. Brother of Thor and son of Frigg. Yada yada yada.” Napoleon slouched lower on the seat, thinking. “But what’s his connection with Udo? Gaby, is your father worshiper of Baldr? Or any Norse god?”

“Not that I know of, no.” 

It seemed they were at loss at what to do next, but then Gaby moved slightly in her seat. “I might be able to ask around in my trance. Met a spirit before that looked like she was from the ancient era.” She tapped her index finger on the table, repeatedly. “She said, I should go to the place where we all belong, might be a hint for this HQ. That indicates she wanted to tell us something, right?”

Illya sighed. “Better than nothing. When will you able to perform the summoning?”

“It’s trance, Illya, not summoning. I don’t summon them; just embrace the dead part of my soul a little bit more.” Illya shrugged, his specific move that basically said ‘whatever’ and Gaby rolled her eyes. “I need to eat, and sleep, then I’ll be ready to go for the trance.”

They decided to reconcile at seven hundred hours sharp tomorrow. Before going back to his room in HQ, Napoleon jogged to Gaby’s side. “Hey, thanks for the car. It would be a pain in the ass if I had to drag my sorry concussed ass to the meeting point.”

Gaby looked confused. “What car?”

“It’s not you? Hm.” It wasn’t Waverly, he asked. And it wasn’t Victoria’s either. She won’t be caught dead, literally or figuratively, with it. Someone must’ve left it there. But who…?

\----------------------------------------------

Gaby dreamt of a woman.

She looked familiar, dressed in golden dress, long edge of it sweeping the bottom of the stone floor as she ran. She knelt in front of a man. Young, with similar golden curls like hers. Perhaps her son. 

Cry was torn from her chest as she held him in her arms, bleeding wounds unable to be healed by her magic, nor the magic from the man in front of him, tall and imposing with a crown on his head. 

Behind them, far in the back seat of the room, a man with light brown hair and beard and moustache grinned in mischief. Bowing down lightly, looking pleased with himself then disappeared in a poof of smoke.

Scenery changed and the man in the crown gathered his army, marching in his war against the cunning light brown haired man, riding his six-legged horse and the other riding a big black wolf, feral with his red eyes.

The scene felt familiar, but she cannot place it. She woke up the next day feeling disoriented, already forgot about the dream.

\----------------------------------------------

Gaby gathered the necessary ingredients for longer and clearer trance. Aromatic incense, black ritual candles, and the drawing of pentagram under her feet with chalks. She sat in the middle of it, with Napoleon and Illya on her right and left side, ready in case of emergency.

She closed her eyes, and began drifting. When she heard a voice, soft and feminine, she took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The woman before was standing in front of her, “Hello, what’s your name?” She started off lightly with a smile.

Both men’s eyes darting around the room, unable to see the spirit. “I don’t see anything.” Napoleon said, confused. Gaby shushed them. “Only the caller is able to see the one who is called.”

The woman waved her hand at Gaby’s inquiry. “My name is not important, young alp. What important is to prevent Edda from happening.”

“Edda? Where did I hear it before…”

Napoleon cut in. “Poetic and Prose Edda. The Old Icelandic poems about Ragnarok. So that’s what inside that gibberish poem.” Then realization formed on his face. “She’s planning on kick starting the apocalypse, isn’t she?”

Heavy silence fell on the room. Everyone knew how bad Ragnarok could be. Murder and chaos and blood everywhere. She knew Victoria was planning something, maybe destroying a country or two to prove how powerful she could be, but not the world’s destruction.

The spirit inclined her head in acknowledgement. “First, she is going to resurrect Baldr.” Gaby could see pain in her eyes while she said this, as if the name itself gave her sorrow. “For that she would need mistletoe’s arrow, a powerful amulet with a connection to any god, and a soul of dead child turned into supernatural being.” She looked intently at Gaby. “Yes, you my child. She needs you. The rituals will need to be held by summoner who had resurrected the child. Your father.”

This was getting complicated, with all of it coming back to her. She hated being in the centre of a problem. “The demon’s underling was careless, leaving the amulet behind, but she almost has all the ingredients. You must hurry.” Her body flickered in and out of the planes of existence. “Search for the skilled demon hunter in the land of the free. They will be able to help you.” She vanished, leaving behind only an echo of her voice.

“Land of the free?”

Gaby shrugged. “Guess we’re going to America, now.”

\----------------------------------------------  
They had a day to prepare for the trip, and Illya sat there on his bed, contemplating what to do next about his relationship with the Incubus. There was nothing between them, he knew. Incubus was not known for their inclusiveness and loyalty, but it still pissed him off to think about him feeding from other source. Is this Incubus magic, he wondered? Carefully snared him in his trap so Illya would feel this deep attraction. Possessive. Dependent on sex with him like an addict to his drug. The jerk off and meditation failed after he got the real taste and look. Napoleon’s body, arched and covered in blood, printed on his mind and he cannot forget the sight, so beautiful and obscenely sensual. He suspected the demon knew.

It was better to forget, he knew. He was still sore and tired from last night, and it will not bode well for him if he continued to feel like this in every mission onwards because of an inadvisable intercourse. He growled, frustrated, and decided he needed to clear his head. He went for a walk, in a small garden located at the back of HQ.

There he saw the scene that boiled his blood. 

Napoleon was feeding on someone, cornered his prey under the lush tree in the right side of the garden. They talked in hushed voice while Napoleon kissed and bite his lips, a boy, barely in his adulthood, with blond hair with a smooth Ukranian accent, and Illya got a burst of irrational anger in him. He strode, fast and confident in his anger, confronting Napoleon. 

The boy flailed in shame, apologizing for no reason and fled the scene. Illya turned his head, glaring at Napoleon. "The boy was barely an adult." He said in contempt, but glancing back at the fleeing young man, he honestly did not know to whom his anger was directed. He should be angry at the demon, but instead what he felt was jealousy and covetous desire.

"A man's gotta eat, Peril.” He sat down on nearby bench, leaning his spine on the backrest. “We used to have a saying for young Incubus who’s unable to cope with his conscience. Can’t live with it, can’t live without it.” He looked into Illya’s eyes, serious for once. “Feeding is necessary. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Or drain people dry of their energy. I’m a thief, not a killer.” His gaze was intent, as if Illya’s opinion did, in fact, matter to him. 

“Besides, won't be any use for you when I'm weak and hungry. Too distracted to do anything but fuck.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket, the newest model, complete with its newest apps, tapping distractedly on the screen. “Anyway he's still an adult. And alive. So what's your problem?" Napoleon did not even look at his direction, but he could feel the judging eyes, ready to thwart more of his argument. Illya stayed silent for a while, hiding his shaky hand by clenching it into a fist. Dull waves of sound filled his mind and he probably should calm himself—

"How you chose victim is problematic. Would you feast on adolescents if they are only one available nearby?" as the words left his mouth, Illya knew he was out of line. Napoleon’s eyes are sharp, too sharp, glinting dangerously under the artificial light of the garden as his spine snapped straight. He stood slowly, not breaking eye contact with Illya, seizing him down like he was about to devour him, destroying him into tiny pieces in his mind. Like a predator in the wild. When he spoke again his voice was cold, edged. Unforgiving. Filled with barely contained violence under his skin.

“Would you have sex with a child, then? When the option between that and death looms above you?” Napoleon said, with deadly calm demeanor, but Illya could see the anger boiling underneath it. He never saw Napoleon so angry. 

“I—“ Illya faltered in his answer.

"Yeah. don’t think so.” He prowled closer, and Illya fought his instinct to back away, protect himself from this beast. “I'd rather starve, thank you very much." He walked again and stood right in front of Illya, so very close; their breath mingled together brushed as he brushed an invincible dust on Illya’s shoulder. Tension between them almost palpable. “You look down on me so badly; I wondered why you even bother saving me multiple times in the past few days. Should’ve just let me die.” He did not gave Illya a chance to talk, wandered away instead, shoulders tense.

Gaby, who saw everything behind her window, her room next to the garden, scold him "You did notice the victim’s characteristic, did you not?"

" _Da._ What about it?" He frowned, confused. 

"Don't you think it matches someone?" She said, casually dropping the truth right on Illya’s face. His eyes widened. "You think—"

She rolled her eyes, looking exasperated. "I don't think. I know. He just can’t help it. If he can't get you he'll settle for second best. Better that than nothing." Closing her window, she left Illya standing in the front of her window, digesting the information.

\----------------------------------------------

Napoleon met Gaby when he wandered in the kitchen at night, looking for a glass of water. She gave him an expectant look and he sighed. “Yeah, I know, shouldn’t fight with him, team member and everything. Just be thankful I didn’t punch that bastard in the jaw and started a fight.”

Gaby rolled her eyes. "Not that. In fact, I didn’t mind if you actually hit him. He was being kind of a racist dick.” She nodded, but then continued. “But you know what? The truth, he's just jealous. He didn't realize it yet. Not an excuse for his douchebaggery, but I’m just saying." 

"Who? Red peril? No way. He hates creature with passion. Incubus the most. Remember that story we coaxed out of him? Something about his childhood scarred him forever?"  
She buried her face on her palms. "You both are bunch of idiots."

Napoleon scowled. "Hey! I am not. He is." he pouts like a child, refusing to believe Gaby. 

_There was no way, okay? No way._

\---------------------------------------------- 

“Napoleon—“

“Stop it. Don’t want to hear about any of your bullshit anymore.” Napoleon walked briskly, heading with speed towards the training room in his gym clothes, gray tank top and black workout pants. The Russian was uncharacteristically non-sarcastic nor raging quietly.

“Want to apologize.” He paused, hesitated. “Out of line, before. Sorry.“ Napoleon was openly surprised. He didn’t think the man do the apologize thing. At all. “Fine. Now scoot. Need me time at the gym.”

Something still lodged on Illya’s chest. Something— “And ask you to feed on me.” There it was. And did he actually hear that right?

“What?”

“Feed on me, so you won’t have to feed from anyone else.” He averted his gaze, looking oddly guilty and nervous like a child to be scolded.

Napoleon still vexed about before, but he always been very forgiving guy. “Look, you don’t have to try to be a saint, okay. It doesn’t suit you. If you don’t like it then fine, I’ll try to find an older guy. Happy?”

Illya didn’t look happy. “No. I don’t—I don’t want you to feed on other people.”

 _What the hell is his problem?_ “Peril, I'm offended that you think I can't control myself around other people.” He feign shocked, but he knew the other could see how irritated he actually was.

"Is not that. Not about control. Just reducing possibility of you attacked by enemy while vulnerable." It was flimsy at best, but Illya persist. 

"You’ll get tired afterwards, so no. Thank you for the offer." Napoleon looked at Illya with a frown, suspicious and a bit confused, he could never understand this man. Deciding to just go, he stopped when Illya held his shoulder. "Napoleon."

Something in his voice sound desperate and frustrated. It was possible that Gaby was right. Gaby was always right. Illya’s desire was buried deep beneath the strict demeanor and Napoleon sighed, giving in. "Fine. Whatever. But only when we’re outside HQ. Inside, I get to feed on whoever I want. How about it?"

"...alright." Illya reluctantly agreed. “Feed on others when it really necessary. Other times you go to me.”

“Sure. Whatever you want, Peril.”

After, when Illya offered to spar with him, Napoleon hid his amused smirk when he saw Illya’s eyes trailing down his ass when he stretched. Pleased at their current arrangement.

\----------------------------------------------

In America, they stayed in one of CIA’s safe houses, specifically fortified against seers. A little bit of research indicate they might’ve to search for the help of local hunters. This country was filled with so many unruly supernaturals and chaotic demon activity that it was a wonder this country still standing at all. 

When they arrived, a beep on their phone indicated that Victoria was caught on CIA’s radar when one of the agents got suspicious about a factory outside of Night Vale producing bloodstones. The only permit they gave for production of the stones only available for the dessert town, no other. Bloodstones was dangerous when handled incorrectly, reports of explosion came in a few times from other factory, so they decided to just concentrated it in the best environment of Night Vale, where casualties were seen as a blessing for their immortal life.

Gathering their supplies, they headed to the factory, a neat location in the middle of deserted town. They didn’t have any other agents with them, this country’s agents busy enough as it was with suspicious activity suddenly popping out around the country, even more often than before. 

Probably not the best idea to split up, but this place was enormous. Splitting up would cover more ground. Gaby was rummaging through files in the office she sneaked into when a man came in. He was tall, maybe as tall as Illya, with stubbles decorating his jaw, hair slightly slicked back to appear presentable, as he tried to dress like government agent, CIA or FBI. But years of being surrounded by nicely dressed men made Gaby notice how cheap his suit was. Definitely not an agent.

He stopped in his track, and smiled when he noticed Gaby’s outfit. She wasn’t exactly dressed to impress either, in her black tactical outfit. “Need any help?”

She smirked, gesturing to files around her. “Sure.” They did the search in silence, with occasional glance at each other. “So…who’re you again?”

The man laughed, sound nice and friendly and she bet this man was popular back in school. “I never said.” He stood in his full height, but instead feeling intimidated, she felt protected instead. He was human, and Gaby was far stronger than he ever will be, but in that moment she felt like she could do anything with this guy on his side. Take down any creature. “Sam Winchester. I’m here with my brother. You’re not from around here, are you?” he said, noticing her accents.

She shook her head, opening a nearby drawer while at it. “No. Home is…far away from here.” 

_….wait a minute._ She just realized something, information she read on a file back on safe house. “Winchester? As in Winchester brothers? Famous hunters?”

“Oh? Are you a fellow hunter?”

Two brothers, most famous for their supernatural-killing skill. Unorthodox and sometimes brutal, Gaby wondered how U.N.C.L.E let them roamed loose just like that. Not captured them or even let them in on the organization. This was her chance to make alliances, but before she could answer, her fingers found secret compartment below the drawer. A box, around 30 cm in width, fell down from it, and inside the info that she need. 

Three days from now, Victoria was going to make do the rituals by placing the acquired bloodstones in, of all places, Wyoming. She directed her eyes to Sam. Perhaps the hunter will know. “Do you, by any chance, know what’s in Wyoming?”

By the way Sam stiffened, she knew something bad had or will happen in there. He tried to cover it up with casualty. “Why’d you asked?” She showed him the document, and Sam groaned in distress, muttering ‘not again’ while shaking his head.

Suddenly, they could feel the air crackling, with the sound of stones being moved downstairs with people screaming and gunshots being fired. “Come on, I’ll explain later. For now let’s check the sound.”

They head down, into the complete chaos of the factory. In the middle of it, Napoleon, safely sound inside the barrier, moving bloodstones into position. He waved when he saw Gaby, stepping out of it and shooting nearby guard, again with the chimera, with ease. “Hey Gaby.” He eyed Sam with calculating gaze, subtle. “And you. Met your brother and his angel before. Dean went to do a double check on the place. Cas went to get Illya.”

He read a couple of sentences in language Gaby couldn’t understand and the circle glowed red. Running on the direction of the exit, Napoleon then said. “Better get moving. I just turn on the explosive.”

That _bastard._

\----------------------------------------------

Illya met a man on a corner, holding a shotgun, looking out of place in his jeans and plaids amidst the factory workers in their blue overalls. They were at impasse. Illya calculating the odds of how to deal with this situation. The man clearly not a creature of some sort. In fact, he had that hardened look that said he had seen worse. Illya liked that look. Defeating him would be more interesting. But before he could react, Gaby ran passed him, screaming for him to run. “Illya come on. What are you doing standing around here?”

“This man—“

“Never mind him. That shithead Solo set up explosive around the building!” she said, as some sort of explanation. Napoleon, in turn, just jogged lightly. “It’ll probably just cause small explosion. I’ve set up bloodstone circle before; it was practically harmless when the combination is right.”

“And if it wasn’t?”

Napoleon shrugged. “I’ve heard it might blow a person or two. But this is a factory. Surely it’ll hold.”

Of course it will not. They barely made it outside; the edge of Illya’s shirt, along with the man with the floppy brown hair got singed. They almost did not make it, but a man in a trench coat saved them by teleportation. The explosion destroyed the factory entirely, burning the building to dust and smoke in an instant. “Wow. Didn’t know bloodstone is _that_ powerful.”

The man with the shotgun glared at Napoleon and almost punched him, if not for the tall man whose clothes got singed before. “Dean, no. You know they’re friendly.” ‘Dean’ gave him disbelieving look. “Okay, mostly friendly.”

“You know them?” Illya asked, both Napoleon and Gaby seemed to know them already.

Dean relented and Sam brushed his ruined jeans, covered in soot. “I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean.” He then gestured to the man in a coat. “This is Castiel.” He narrowed his eyes. “Hold on. Now that I get a closer look… I know you guys. The ones that’s been asking around for hunters?”

Ah. The Winchesters. “You know owner of this factory?”

“Yeah, about that, how about we talk later?” He got in to his car, sleek black 1967 black Impala, and Napoleon whistled, looking impressed with the car. Illya had to admit the car was well taken care off for an old vehicle. “I’m hungry. Just follow my car and we’ll talk on a diner, okay?”

\----------------------------------------------

They did talk, but not in diner. Waverly had seen it best to teleport them, still in their separated car, to the US HQ. That was, Pentagon.

“Holy fuck I’m in Pentagon.”

“Yes, Dean, you are in headquarters of the United States Department of Defense, which is part of U.N.C.L.E—“

“Sam, we’re in Pentagon!”

Everyone sighed. This was going to be a long talk.

\----------------------------------------------

Dean almost killed every creature in the room when he found out about the creature organization ‘infiltrating’ the government and the potential disaster that’ll happen. Waverly, in turn, beg to differ. “Remember Noah’s Ark? It happened because one of the ‘noble’ hunter tried to hunt my head security in false belief of him having the potential to destroy the world while he let Jörmungandr roamed free. Wreaking havoc and causing the great flood.” Dean still refused to believe it, but with a whisper from Cas, he calmed down, agreeing to sit in the meeting room to discuss things.

They trade stories, and about what was in Wyoming. There used to be a hell gate in there. But it needed special weapon to open the gate. Waverly, in turn, said that rituals of bloodstones will enable it to be opened without it, but it can only be done once. Anymore and the area will be destroyed without even letting the gate open. It’ll also negate the need for amulet, as the gate of hell was apparently that gate of Hel, the underworld goddess of Norse Mythology. Direct connection to resurrect the dead god.

Luckily, they had a safe house in the city not far from the area of the gate. “Just be careful not to run into any of Victoria’s henchmen.” Waverly said. 

Cas asked for the amulet back, putting it back on Dean with affection in his eyes. They stood there, face to face, eyes not leaving each other and Napoleon rolled his eyes. “What’s with your brother and his angel?” he whispered conspiratory at Sam.

The other shrugged. “What’s with you and the golden boy?”

“Touché.”

Their relationship was…complicated. That was all he could say. He never had any meaningful relationship before, him being a sexual demon, but live long enough and you’ll start to get bored with the lifestyle. The point was, if Illya game, he’s game. But the other’s struggle with his desire was both sweet and frustrating to Napoleon. 

Now, where _was_ Illya…

\----------------------------------------------

Illya was about to enter his room to prepare his stock of weapon and charm for their safe house when he heard beats of wings. When he turned, Castiel was right there in front of his face. “ _Blyat_! Do not surprise me like that.” The creature still hadn’t moved. “Move away, angel.”

“You are infatuated with him.” The angel frowned. “No, not just infatuation. Obsession. Craving. Desire.” He nodded, looking sure of himself. “You should tell him. You are still young. It is better to get it over with early. It will not hurt as much if he do not want you back.” He looked at Dean, talking with Sam in front of their room three doors from Illya’s with intent scrutiny, eyes hopeful, but when the human looked back, he cast his eyes down, dejected. Afraid.

“I can control it.” Gritting his teeth, he attempted to get inside, he did not need to be coddled, but Castiel prevented it.

“You will not be able to, child.”

Illya glowered. “I am not a child.”

“Ah, but you are the youngest amongst us, are you not?”

“Gaby—“

“The girl is dead. Time is on her side now that she entered the realm of eternity. You, however, even younger than Dean and Sam.”

Illya was twitching with restlessness as his fist shook in attempt to control himself. To not tackle the man in the trench coat who claimed himself an angel and beat him to submission. He almost barked a laugh. Here he was, one of the three human on their team, but he was the only one who was even more feral than creatures surrounding him.

“Will think about it.” He said. Anything to get the man off his case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bloodstones are from Welcome to Night Vale. It's a very nice podcast about strange town in the desert. Go listen to it if you haven't already : https://soundcloud.com/nightvaleradio
> 
> Painting of Baldr : http://www.germanicmythology.com/works/IMAGES3/EBOYDSMITHBaldursDeath.jpg
> 
> Jörmungandr : "Jörmungandr or “Midgard Serpent,” is a snake or dragon who lives in the ocean that surrounds Midgard, the visible world. So enormous is he that his body forms a circle around the entirety of Midgard. He’s one of the three children of Loki and the giantess Angrboða, along with Hel and Fenrir."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided to break the last chapter into two because it was too long :)

Illya was drinking on his room on safe house in Wyoming, alone. He thought about what Gaby said before. And the angel (he sneered when he first heard it. Angel? That man looked like a mere tax accountant). Also looks from even the Winchesters brother. Was he that obvious? He knew he was young, but he had mastered the art of subtlety better than most of the senior agents he met. Knocking back a drink, vodka, strong, but no longer burned the back of his throat when he drank it, he thought about what he should do next. He came out with no clear plan on how to deal with it.

Distraught, Illya decided to clear his head in the nearest bar he could find in the area, neon pink sign spelling ‘The Lair’, bright and dizzying, but he went inside, against his better judgement. Surprisingly, he found many Russian inside, dancing on the dance floor or drinking quietly on the bar. He knew the body languages of fellow Russian. He relaxed slightly, which might not be such a good idea.

Intoxicating scent he smelt near the bar should be a warning sign. Coupled with unusual eye colour most of the women had should be the next sign. Instead of blaring in alarm, his mind was dulled, logic covered by the really good drink he ordered at the bar. One glass and he was already this drunk? Must be all the vodka he consumed at the hotel. But he usually had more tolerance than this…

He never drank something like this before, the clear liquid of the alcohol mixed with something pink with a sweet smell. He felt relaxed, inhibition lowered. Illya had a vague sense of someone touching his shoulder, someone who stood next to him and he leaned into it, thinking of the smooth and suave demon. His own body betraying what he vowed to accomplish in the beginning, that he steeled himself against the Incubus’ touch. He remembered what he told Napoleon when they first met, and now look at him, craving it deeply.

But when feminine voice reached his ears, the soft touch of manicured hand registered. He recoiled from it. It was not…was not him. He stifled the need to laugh depreciatively. That man brought him low effortlessly, as Illya realized he would rather have his gun calloused fingers touched him rather than the smooth fingers of the woman, felt soft as if made from perfection itself.

When he slapped the hand, the woman beside him hummed instead of being offended, and, with a blink, seemingly blurring and focusing repeatedly, changing her shape into that of Napoleon. Illya slipped off from the bar’s stool clumsily, rubbing his bloodshot eyes, tired from the lack of sleep. Perhaps it was the demon, or was it? Confused, Illya just stood there silently, still trying to process what he seen.

Prowling towards Illya like a predator, Napoleon kissed him passionately on the lips. Illya let out a surprised moan, as he felt himself helplessly surrendered to the kiss, feeling an arm wounding itself around his hips, grounding him. Letting himself focused on the pleasure.

\----------------------------------------------

They were waiting for their seer to analyse things from the factory (or what’s left of it anyway), to maybe give them an advantage for their confrontation later in Wyoming. In the meantime, they were free to go anywhere, as long as they remember that the seer protection from the safe house only extended in the radius of 50 km.

There was a bar nearby, owned by Incubus friend of his and used as a hunting ground for both Succubus and Incubus. Napoleon didn’t get the reason his friend would invite Succubus inside his domain. He always despised Succubus, just like him, as long as Napoleon could remember, and believe him; he’d lived for a very long time. Might be because of business. Succubus did tend to be greedier and brought a larger amount of prey to the club.

So he decided to go there, leaving lovebirds at the nest to deal with their problem. Dean and Cas with their hot and cold thing (they should just fuck already), Sam and Gaby with their shyness around each other. And, he supposed, he had his own problem with Illya. Although he won’t go so far as labelling them as lovebirds. Because they weren’t.

Thankfully, the sections for both were mostly separated; both sexual demons keep distances from each other. So Napoleon went there, decided to have a drink or two, sipping little bit of energy from the human patron here and there (whatever Illya said, he wouldn’t dry him out with only feeding from him. Insane plan. But he was a man of his words and so he stayed away from big meal. Small bites won’t hurt for extra energy sources.)

It was then he saw something he never thought he saw in this lair.

Illya, usually all bark and bite and coiled so tightly around himself, was dancing with a pixy-haired brunette. Lovely and beautiful, but all Succubus was made like that. He did a double take, making sure that his eyes didn’t deceive him (with so much pheromone tainting the air, who knows?) but no matter how many times he blinked, the man was still there, laughing and dancing sensuously along with the femme fatale, occasionally moaning when she kissed him or bite his neck.

His mind screamed for him to drive the lady away, showing her that the Russian was his. He was a greedy man, like most Incubus. It was one of the things that differentiate them from their sisters. Incubus were territorial with their prey, whilst Succubus were territorial with their property.

So he put on his most intimidating look, known as he was in the demons’ world, he was sure the woman would give up easy and he was right. The woman was young, far younger than him, probably only around a hundred years old. Her eyes widened, seeing the way he looked at Illya and she scurried away, nodding politely.

Swaying dangerously forward, the only thing preventing him from face-planting on the ground was only Napoleon’s quick hand, supporting him in his arm and waist. “Napoleon?” Illya giggled. Something was definitely wrong. Illya, who could probably drink everyone here under the table, was drunk.

“You were there and now you are here. Fast. Like air planes.” He made tried to make a sound and move like an air plane with his hand but ended up almost tipped back to the floor when his unsteady legs betrayed him. He didn’t look worried at all though. Instead nuzzling Napoleon’s throat like a giant cat.

“Good god, Illya. What did they give you?”

He pointed to the clear liquid on the bar. “Sweet. Weird taste.” Then surged upward, attempted to kiss Napoleon. With his clumsiness he ended up missing the lips entirely and sloppily kissed the jaw. “Dizzy. But horny. Let us fuck.” Illya whispered hotly on Napoleon’s ear and he shuddered. The other’s desire tasted good on his tongue, but he won’t do it when the man can’t give any consent. Can’t get back to the safe house either looking like this. “Let’s go to the nearby hotel, then, shall we?”

\----------------------------------------------

When Illya felt finger on his lips, wet with Napoleon’s own blood, he opened it, licking eagerly on the surface, swallowing the coppery taste of blood on his tongue. A few minutes later, his mind cleared enough to think. The first thing he noticed was how disoriented and groggy he felt.

 _Did he just—?_ Illya turned his head, hiding it in the pillow he was on and groaned, embarrassed of the situation. When he felt the blush no longer covered his face, he took in his situation. Last thing he remembered was when they were out of the bar, and now he was in the hotel room, lying in the white sheets instead of his own bed and he was thankful of Napoleon’s consideration. Meeting with Gaby and Winchester like this...no good.

"You _had_ to drink at Succubus’ lair.” Napoleon sat on a sofa beside the bed, burying half his face in his palm, leaning on the back of the velvety material. “Why not any other bar?"  
Illya was sweating heavily, his body felt feverish and hot. "Sorry for ruining your time. Not like I know it was demon’s lair." He said back, angry, but did not have the energy to shout back. His cock was tenting his pants, that much he could see with a glance down his pelvis. His drink was poisoned with something.

"The drink was laced with succubus venom, you dolt. You could’ve died if I’m not there to chase away the Succubus.” Napoleon said, confirming his suspicion. “You’re not usually this careless." He touched Illya’s forehead gently, the touch cool on his heated skin, like a balm. Calming.

“Was not careful because of Russian around the place. Thought it familiar. Apologize.” He acknowledged his mistake when he made them. That was the first thing he learned as an agent. Acknowledge and learn.

Napoleon snorted. “Obviously. The club was owned by a Russian, also Incubus.” Seeing bullets of sweat falling down Illya’s forehead, he sighed and wiped it with a cold, wet towel that must be from the bathroom. His fingers lingered around the button of Illya’s shirt, asking permission, and Illya nodded. Being topless did make him felt slightly cooler, but the chill that hit his nipples felt good, too good, and both buds pebbling. The Incubus ran his fingers on it, eyes mesmerised like he could not help himself. Light pinch and circling the sensitive skin, making Illya’s hips twitching upwards as a response. Illya gritted his teeth in shame of his frayed control, but the motion against his cock felt soothing in a way, even as it was trapped tightly against his underwear.

He took his hand back, wincing. “We probably should find a way to deal with this without you dying.” Napoleon was only dressed in his shirt, blue this time instead of his usual white, barefoot, suit jacket and tie nowhere in sight. “The drug commonly has two outcomes. Dry you out until all they squeezed out of you is no longer liquid, only pure energy, and then you die.” He started to discard Illya’s pants, leaving Illya in his gray boxer. Wet patch already formed in front of him. “Or, you don't come, the drug changed into poison, and then you die."

Glaring at Napoleon, or tried to, since his face was flushed and eyes heavy lidded with visceral want for release so he might looked like a petulant child instead of intimidating, he tried to stay still and not rubbed his groin all over the sheets. “Sounds like I will not have any choice but die.” He slumped on the bed. Never in his life had he thought he would die like this. Bullets and knives and bombs, perhaps. Not unsatisfied or over satisfied sexual desire. “If I die, tell others I died in battles.” Resigned, he closed his eyes.

"I might have other solution. But you have to trust me." Illya opened his eyes, giving Napoleon a sceptic look, but he had no other choice. “What is your plan? Tell me.”

He hesitated. “You’ll care nothing but sex in a while. My blood could only hold the effects for some time. So…” His palm moved, slow, towards Illya’s pelvis, looking straight to his eyes. He did not stop him. “I have to fuck you.” Then he sneaked his hand down, passed the perineum to press against his hole. Illya gasped. “In here.” Napoleon kept the intrusion lightly, rubbing against the outer ring with slow circling motion. “Can’t use the energy seed again. It’ll put extraneous weight on your body. Hopefully my…’energy’ will suffice to replace what was lost.”

Explanation from the demon sounded easy. No messy rituals involving blood or sacrifice. No limbs severed. And yet Illya’s heart still beat hard in his chest. He never…he never let anyone close enough to do that. He will be vulnerable. The moment will be too intimate. Did he trust the Incubus enough to do it?

His mind immediately answered with a yes.

“Yes.”

\----------------------------------------------

With the permission given, Napoleon got to work. He probably had to wan the other slowly off it first. Drain Illya’s personal energy and the drug out of his system, then filling in the gap with the processed energy from his own body. It was risqué, but energy would be discharged out of his body anyway, it was better to put the energy to use.  
Illya’s pulse fluttered in his neck, throat convulsing under Napoleon’s touch, swallowing nervously.

Decided to go slow, Napoleon divest both of them of their remaining clothes, Illya’s cock, flushed dark red at the head it looked painful, already leaking around its head, clear pre cum dripping unto his stomach. He slotted his own body against Illya, grinding down, kissing him hard on his mouth. It was all that they did then. Slow and unhurried, grinding against each other. The friction felt dry, but Illya didn’t seem to mind, hiding his shaky moan in between their kiss. A few moments in, he can’t seem to hold it in, came after a particularly hard grind of Napoleon’s hips.

Napoleon sat back, admiring his work. Staring unabashedly at Illya's naked body. Planes of skin, scarred with healed marks of gunshot or knife wounds. He licked the come stretched on the other’s chest, slowly tugging on Illya’s still hard cock. He whined, too soon after coming, but enough time and he leaned into it. Grabbing into Napoleon’s arm as if to ground himself.

He kissed each and every one of Illya’s wounds, wondering about how they came to be. His body was pale in comparison of his tanned face and hands, used to be hidden under his clothes, protected from the sun in the hours of surveillance and mission. He was beautiful.

Might even as beautiful as Adonis he once met, irresistibly handsome in his golden locks. Perfectly sculptured body on display as if calling to him to ravish him. Make him submit to the pleasure that he alone can give.

Running his hands through the skin, he looked up. Illya’s eyes were glazed; Napoleon’s blood no longer effective against the onslaught of lust. Palming the cock once more, this time he had to physically restrain Illya’s hips so he won’t buckled up. With slow act, he’ll last longer, and he need slow for his body to adjust against the loss of energy.

Moving down, and down, Napoleon tentatively licked the head of his cock, startling a cry from the other, and he came as Napoleon sucked the shaft into his mouth, swallowing the come, less thick than before.

Illya was breathing hard as he started to look exhausted. They had to speed up the process. Carefully fold Illya’s legs up to his chest, looking up to check if he was uncomfortable, Napoleon grabbed the trembling hands, positioned it on each of the back of his knees to put the hole on display.

“Napoleon—“

Protest was cut off when Napoleon pushed a wet-with-lube finger in, and he could feel Illya clenched his grip, shivering against the pleasure. He thrust inside; twist his finger to find the spot, feeling the muscle gave under his ministration. One press of his fingers against the prostate and Illya came again, the spurt clear and pathetic, but Napoleon swiped it under his finger anyway, aware of his eyes glowing brighter green when he saw his reflection on the mirror above the best post (probably put by the kinky owner of the hotel). Licking it eagerly off his fingers, he thrust two, then three fingers, pleased when he saw Illya moved his hips, fucking himself shamelessly into Napoleon’s fingers, impatient and inexorable. Writhing in pleasure.

After a fervent kiss, intense and consuming, he whispered on Illya’s ear. “What do you need, Illya?”

He moaned hoarsely at the mention of his name. “More. Not enough. Please…” Under normal circumstances, this will be too embarrassing for Illya. If he didn’t stop him, the man might kill him if he remembered that Napoleon let his happen.

Tugging his cock while also fucking him with the fingers proved to satisfy his need, Illya wailed in pleasure and pain, his cock twitched again in attempt to come but nothing come out. The drug was indeed impressive, as he looked at the cock that still stood proud, almost purpling in strain. Experimentally, he tried to touch the skin, but Illya hissed. “Too sensitive.” It was time, then.

Lubing his cock, Napoleon positioned it in front of Illya’s entrance, with the other’s ankles supported on his shoulders, slowly pushing in, tight heat welcoming him. Illya made a wounded noise, his voice tight and rough as he pulled Napoleon’s shoulder in, making him fold Illya into half. His flexibility was amazing. Breathing hotly on his ear to fuck him. Begging him to do it fast and hard until he can barely walk. The words jarring when it came out of Illya’s mouth of all places, but hot at the same time.

He tried to extend the pleasure. Inside him was the best he ever felt, rare as he was to fuck anybody. Being weak from lack of energy in front of other demons was not an option. While his prey usually only served as that. Prey. But he trusted Illya. Willing to give a part of himself away just for him. Was this a sign of something?

Illya’s tongue was loose as he fucked him, making undecipherable sound, just combination of grunts and low and strangled moan, unable to say anything clear as he was overwhelmed by pleasure. Only their respective sounds and slick sound of friction and slapping of skin filled the air. He felt fingers clawing on his back. Illya’s blunt nails marking his pale back with redness.

Napoleon came first with a grunt, slamming his cock as deep as he can inside. He felt the energy leaving him, filling in Illya’s weak body and he sighed in relief. Now all they can do was waiting for it, if it was enough. He can’t give more because human body won’t be able to take huge amount of supernatural’s energy intact.

He could hear Illya’s high keen underneath him, as he came dryly, again, and Napoleon pulled out. He could see the other closed his eyes, his face relaxed. A rise and down of his chest indicate that he was still alive. He cleaned them both, and Illya’s now (thankfully) limp dick, looking perfectly debauched and exhausted. Napoleon snuggled against his giant frame, wrapping his arms protectively against the other.

\----------------------------------------------

This time, when Illya woke up, he could feel Napoleon breathing softly on his neck,

“You passed out three times after sex with me. I don’t know if I should be flattered or worried about your lack of stamina.” He gave Illya a teasing smile. Flirting so casually even now.

He looked comfortable where he was, head situated on the left side of Illya’s broad chest, as if comforting himself in the steady heartbeat and gentle rise of his chest. He ran his free hand through his hair, his blond strand stuck in every direction, refusing to be combed to its usual slicked back style.

His body felt sluggish and tired, sore even worse than his early SVR training. A lesser man would’ve perished from the energy exchanged with Incubus. But Illya was no lesser man. He pretended to push Napoleon’s head away. “Move. You are heavy.”

"Nope. I'm comfortable right where I am." he patted Illya’s right pectoral.

Illya again pretended to sigh in defeat, but he gave in to his desire and touched Napoleon in return, playing with his soft, black hair. Content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw The Lair in this chapter not quite like The Lair that was a cliche gay vampire series, but I did think of it when I chose the name. The Lair's poster, if you haven't seen the series : http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/headhuntershorrorhouse/images/a/a6/The_Lair_Season_3.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20110318183420


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter :)

Next day, one day more until the journey to gate of hell, after drinking Napoleon’s putrid medicine that he claimed will reduce aftereffects of the drug, he decided to go out, even as he hobbled and winced every time he walked. Napoleon was not…small. But there was no way he would tell him that. His ego was big enough.

Napoleon’s clear reluctance of going out was unusual, but he ignored it, and forced the man to go with him to nearest restaurant to get coffee and food. 

Then annoyingly, things started happening. He felt eyes tracking his every move even when Illya was pretty sure they were civilian. Brief background check through the system proved that some even did not have criminal records. People beginning to approach him on the street, pinching and grabbing his ass, and he gave startling him and made him strung high, paranoid of any people around him. These people, whom he did not know, were harassing him even as Illya literally twisted their arm and kicked their sheen and slapped them, relentless and uncaring of his protest.

“What is going on?” Illya said in alarm, hiding in an alley after him and Napoleon ran away from the horde of people.

The Incubus looked uncomfortably anxious. “Um. That might be the Incubus’ pheromone that you got along with my energy.”

“But those people molested me.”

He stood closer, rubbing the nape of Illya’s neck in soothing motion to calm him down, and Illya frowned, even as it worked to reduce his anger. Napoleon was acting oddly attached. “It signaled that you are mine and other Incubus should back up. The down side is more human’s going to get more attracted to you.” He seemed to catch himself when he realized what he was doing, but he did not move away. “It’ll dissipate by tomorrow. Probably.”

Illya was pissed off. He really did. But it was hard to get angry when he was too distracted by the lips peppering him with kisses all over his face. On his nose. His cheeks. His temple. His hair. And finally on his lips. Gentle and possessive at the same time. 

Finally had Napoleon in his arms now, however impermanent, like what he wanted, but he did not know what to do. Should he reciprocate in the same kind of tenderness that Napoleon shown, even if he never did gentle with anyone else before? This was the first…relationship he was into, if anyone can call it that. 

If it was up to the other, he would probably said to just ‘go with the flow’ but going headfirst without a plan was never Illya’s style. His backup plan had backup plan. With this…  
He was never the one to hope for something. Hope was for the unprepared. But just this once, he hoped that it will not end badly.

\----------------------------------------------

When they got to the place (effects of pheromone thankfully gone), the area was different than what Winchesters said. Railroads and crypt was gone. Instead, a fully furnished and lavished resort stood there. Promising fun time and relaxation. Just great. 

It was good that Napoleon was one of the members of the resort’s membership for guests, so they were able to secure a place inside. But before they got to do anything, Victoria, and in extension her husband, was seen entering the restaurant. It was the first time Napoleon saw Alexander Vinciguerra outside of pictures, and his senses was picking up that the man wasn’t who he seemed to be. He advertised himself as a sexual demon, and Napoleon didn’t think of anything when Victoria decided to marry another demon, even as she vowed to be single forever, a decade ago, when Napoleon last heard anything about her.

To untrained eyes he might’ve been just that, but Napoleon had trained himself to be sensitive regarding supernatural’s identification. Part of his job as a thief. There was something like a veil, simmering around his body. It might’ve been a trick. Or illusion. 

Looking around the hotel; thankfully, there were only a few guests around. Now or never. Before he could act, however, he and Illya dropped dead on the floor. Literally.  
He could feel see their own body on the floor, feeling his spirit leaving his mortal body. Illya was confused beside him, trying to grab his own body. Five minutes. Napoleon had been in this position before, and he knew they only had five minutes before they were permanently dead. 

He ran towards Victoria. Maybe she cursed them with something on the hotel. No. Too far away and too random. In her bag, perhaps? He tried to poses Alexander first. And he was, like Napoleon thought, not human. But he was not a demon either. Something—something far more powerful. 

A god.

Of course. Who wanted to activate Ragnarok anymore than anybody did? Who hated Baldr and all the Æsir and Vanir, heroes of Norse mythology, than him?

Loki, the trickster god.

With a wave of his hand and a smirk, Napoleon was thrown back out, and he knew he would’ve keep going, out of the building and even out of the state, if not for Illya’s strong hand grabbing him. Supporting him.

When they got back inside the restaurant, Alexander was gone. Victoria was sitting on a chair, perfectly poised. She can’t see them, but Napoleon knew she was prepared with anti-possession charm, just in case. And as a new ghost, Napoleon was not strong enough to break it. He had heard only the strongest ghost can.

But what if…

What if they did it together? They had to try, at least. Napoleon didn’t have time to explain, but he grabbed Illya’s hand. “Follow my lead.” And just like that, they tried to possess her together. She jerked, whole body shaking with effort to keep them out, anti-possession charm did not work for two ghost combined. 

One minutes left, Victoria screamed. They were inside. No longer Napoleon and Illya but Napoleon-Illya, merged together as one. Napoleon-Illya understood Illya’s insecurity and reluctance and rage. Napoleon-Illya understood Napoleon’s possession and confusion and trust. Napoleon-Illya also saw the plan and what made them ghosts. 

They found a card on Victoria’s bag. Cards of ancient gypsies used to curse people who refused them land. Burning it here would set up the alarm, but if they burned it under the table, the water won’t get to it. They grabbed lighters from a man from nearby table, he was in the middle of lighting his cigarette, and they sneaked under the table to light it with only few seconds on the clock.

Breathe. 

It was the first thing Napoleon did when he realized he was back. Breathe heaving harshly with pounding of chest. He was dead and it was totally not pleasant. At all. Next to him, Illya woke up with a jerk, eyes wide and looking everywhere in a sort of alerted panic, but when he saw Napoleon he…hug him. An awkward hug, for sure, one arm sneaked around his waist as the other grabbed the back of his head, lightly, pressing his temple right on Napoleon’s own, breathing the same air as his was. He could feel how shaken Illya was, but then it was over within seconds and he pulled back, moment broken. Illya’s eyes were furious now as he helped Napoleon up. “Let us kill these bastards.”

Napoleon agreed.

\----------------------------------------------

They were up two floors to chase Victoria (she disabled the elevator) just in time to see Dean dealt with someone wearing hotel’s uniform. It appeared that Victoria might’ve bought the hotel for the rituals. Or it might be hers to begin with. All the staffs and guests here were probably part of her plan.

“Sorry, our relationship isn’t as breakable as you thought, asshole.” Dean said, as he kneed the Illusionist in the crotch, grinning at the whimpering man on the floor. Cas stood beside him, unexpressive as ever, but he could see the corner of his mouth twitch, forming an almost-smile. The older Winchester glanced at the angel ,as if noticing, smiling back in return. “And I’m not as insecure with my sexuality as I was before. So. The jokes on you.” With one more kick, the man was unconscious. Just like bodies strewn all over the hallways. “Nicely done.” Napoleon chirped in.

“Thanks. C’mon, better hurry up, Sam and Gaby was right behind the bitch.”

Along the way Napoleon saw how destructive Illya-Cas combination was. Illya, even as human, can keep up easily with Cas, raining destruction on all that dared to oppose them in their wake with guns and knives and that angel blade Cas owned. They moved gracefully. Like dancing. And Napoleon swallowed his desire at the beautiful violence. Brief glance to the left let him know that Dean had the same difficulty as his.

Napoleon himself preferred spell and charm. Less messy. With Dean covering him from behind, handy with his guns. With their team up effort, they were unstoppable, and soon enough they arrived on the roof. With Victoria holding Gaby hostages, gun pointed to her head. Sam was unconscious on the floor, bodies of Victoria’s minion littered across the roof. “Hello, brother.”

Napoleon snorted. “We’re not siblings, never. Now let my friend go.”

Her perfect red lips curled up in a twisted sense of amusement. “Or what? You’ll kill me? The plan would still work. My husband is downstairs right now with her blood. It’s all we need left for the rituals. You won’t be able to stop us.” She laughed when Illya pointed her gun at her, as Napoleon felt something cold pressing against the back of his head. “Look behind you, human.” When Illya noticed it, his attention split into two. “Choose wisely.” Her melodic voice sounded like a trap. 

Gaby, in turn, not looking scared at all, in fact she tapped a code into her thighs subtly. Morse code. Saying ‘help Napoleon’. In a split second, everything was happening too fast. Illya shot the man behind Napoleon, right in between his eyes, spraying blood all over his hair. Victoria shot Gaby into the floor, followed by a cry by Sam who just woke up. Dean shot the remaining of Victoria’s minions who tried to get on the roof. 

Victoria pointed her gun next at Illya, but she was not able to do anything more as she was shot in the head from behind. By Gaby.

She was…well, not alive, but well enough. The hole on her temple disappeared, although blood still stained her face. She was dead to begin with. She can’t be killed. Not by normal means. 

“Gaby?” Sam said next to her. “You’re…fine. I thought you were—“

“Human? Sorry I didn’t tell you.” She averted her eyes, not daring to look into Sam’s sad eyes. “For what it’s worth, Sam, I really, genuinely like you.”

It was then an explosion could be heard from bellow. At the back of the hotel, they crypt still stood, shining bright. They could here groaning of souls and demon alike, even from this proximity which indicated the ritual was almost completed.

Cas immediately teleported them downstairs in a disorienting and nauseating trip.

Napoleon, fortunately, didn’t puke his guts out.

\----------------------------------------------

Victoria’s husband changed his shape into a man Gaby saw in her dream, cunning and with a manic gleam in his eyes as he suffocate her. 

Loki, of Asgard.

“How unfortunate. It seemed I have to kill you for a second time.” Loki tightened his grip on Gaby’s neck, chocking her and she gasped, the lack of air making her face blue on the edges. He loudly announced it, pausing for his flair for dramatics. She was saved when Illya roared and tackled the god, succeeded when Napoleon helped by dragging him down, dropping Gaby in the process.

When Gaby fell on the ground, pain in her back as it connected with the stone littered around the soil, she saw a spear near her. It was not there before.

The weapon was gold, its tip sharp and gleaming under the light of the sun. Gaby moved her bleeding hands, full of small cuts, wounds that won’t heal as quickly as the one in the temple unless she was temporarily dead, grabbing the spear to help her stood. Loki was distracted, fighting both Illya and Napoleon. They stood their ground but was clearly no match for the trickster god.

She prayed to any god out there, especially to other Norse god, and threw the spear. _Please hit._

It flew a little to the left, would’ve impaled Illya straight in his back, almost sure of this when Napoleon’s eyes widened, arms already outstretched to drag the other away from it but he won’t make it, the spear was too fast. A scream was right there behind Gaby’s throat. Illya’s blood will be on her hands.

The spear turned its direction, sudden and fast, right before it connected with Illya’s shirt, embedding itself inside Loki’s chest, right in his heart. He cried in indignant anger, once, but then his body fell on the dirt, crumbling, process of entropy happening rapidly from corpse to dust right in front of their eyes.

The trickster god was vanquished.

\----------------------------------------------

A woman appeared in front of them. Gaby recognized it as the woman from her trance, and also now that she remembered, from her dream. 

“I am Frigg, of Asgard. Wife of Odin. Mother of Baldr.” She looked like she glided on the ground, from the way her regal dress wiped the floor with ease. “I thank you all for your cooperation. I will not be able to save my son without your effort.” Behind her, a man with the golden eyes stepped in from an opened portal of the crypt where she came from, it closed behind her, chains sealing it tightly. “I was able to revive Baldr and took care of mistletoe.”

“The car, the information, the spear. They were all from you.”

“Correct.”

“I almost killed Illya with it!”

“The spear was a Heimdallr spear. It was designed to always hit its target, never to miss. The young man was never in any danger to begin with.”

She might be right, but she should’ve told them from the beginning—Gaby paused. Perhaps, it was because of Loki. He must’ve had eyes everywhere. Tricks up his sleeves. Frigg nodded, as if reading her mind. With a wave of her hand, she disappeared, but not before healing all of their injuries.

Gaby had enough dealing with Norse gods to last a lifetime. _Her lifetime._

\----------------------------------------------

-Dean-

“Sure you don’t want to join U.N.C.L.E, Dean? Your brother already agreed.” Dean looked at Sam’s direction, betrayed, but he did look happy beside Gaby. Sam and his attraction to girls who were not human…Dean shook his head. “No thanks. Already got my own HQ.”

Waverly inclined his head. “You mean Man of Letters? You do know it was part of U.N.C.L.E before…right?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” He _didn’t know_ , but hell, the man could be lying through his perfectly white teeth. 

Sam whined at him, giving him his puppy dog eyes, which Dean was weak of. That was so not fair. “Dean…”

Dean looked to the sky, so blue, and cursed God for giving him this weakness. “Fine. Tell you what; let me have my freedom for a while. Then I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t you mean your honeymoon with Cas?”

“Sam—“

His brother held his hands upwards, a sign he gave up on Dean entirely. “Alright, take the time off, Dean. You’ve earned it.”

Dean waved his brother goodbye, driving away from the London HQ where his baby was at. With Cas on the passenger seat, right next to him as they finally resolved years’ worth of issues, and his brother right where he felt he belong, happy, he felt like he had achieved something in live. What they had certainly wasn’t perfect, but he was happy. He knew Cas was happy. It was the best time of his lives.

U.N.C.L.E huh. _Who knows?_

\----------------------------------------------

-Sam-

Their relationship was still new, but Gaby…Gaby was all he wanted before, but never knew he need. She was funny, smart, kind. Stronger and more badass than he thought her before. He woke up every day besides her feeling overwhelmed. After years of disaster, dead loved ones, and just general unluckiness, this felt surreal. 

He was on his way to the restaurant for their lunch, a bouquet of flowers, white rose, her favorite, in his hand. She was sitting on the outer seat, looking perfect in her light blue dress and Sam wondered if he actually deserved this. She looked up, frowning. “Sam? Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” More than anyone knew. Yeah, he was finally ready that he was, finally, okay.

\----------------------------------------------

-Napoleon-

He stood in front of Illya’s room, at lost on what to do. Was Illya going to go back to SVR after all of this? If so then was this all that was left of them? Just let it be? Napoleon himself had been recruited to the London HQ, but how about Illya?

Hesitated, but let himself in after he heard, “Could see your shadow from under the door. Get in, Cowboy.”

Inside, he thought he’ll see boxes or at least duffel bag being packed on the bed, but instead the man was sitting on his bed, casual only in his T-shirt and soft pants, hair ruffled and not gelled like he just woken up. It was adorable and Napoleon was dying to touch the soft strand again. “What do you want?”

What did he want? He wanted many things. That nice painting of angels he saw at the museum. Unlimited source of magic. Access to exclusive demon club in Sweden he still didn’t have. But most of all, he wanted…Illya.

He didn’t voice this, instead he took off his shoes, with Illya just silently following his every moves, stripping until he was on his undershirt and boxers, climbing to curl up next to Illya. The Russian didn’t say anything, but instead curled back into him, molding his own body perfectly on Napoleon’s, looking him straight on his eyes.

Illya kissed him softly, and they kissed until both were panting with need, as they slowly explored each other’s body, mapping it to their mind. And when Illya slotted into him, it was not because of somebody’s dying. Or his need of energy. But because they need each other. Care for each other. Looking at Illya’s eyes, Napoleon knew in his heart that Illya thought so too.

\----------------------------------------------

-Cas-

“Dean, you tie is crooked. Let me fix it.” And this was definitely a recurring event, with Dean the one who done it to him before. He had learned how to do his tie. And a lot of things, from day to day essential to complex things like cooking or navigating around the so called ‘smart phone’ that he was still confused how they were called smart when they clearly not alive at all. Dean always looked at him with fond exasperation every time he did that.

It was five years in and Dean had finally decided to join in on the organization. Good. He will have more resources. Even visit Sam more easily.

When he was done, Dean nodded at him, satisfied, giving him a quick kiss on his lips. Castiel still moaned in surprised. After all these years, he was not used to this easy affection Dean gave to him, effortless and unlimited. Dean kissed him again a couple more times, unable to help himself. When he leaned back, he looked kind of disappointed. “Better not keep Waverly waiting. I swear, with his strictness of time, he must’ve had an actual stick up his ass.”

His comm beeped and turned green. “Both of you, could you please quit snogging and get your arse back down. Meeting’s about to begin.”

“We are not ‘snogging’, Mr. Waverly. We were just kissing.”

Dean groaned, saying “Be right there in a bit.” Right on the comm and turned it red. “Cas…”

“Yes, Dean?” He tilted his head, confused. Dean, in turn, just sighed and took his hand, dragging him out of their room. “Nevermind, let’s just get going.”

\----------------------------------------------

-Gaby-

She wringed her hand, nervous. Behind her Napoleon put a hand on her shoulder, reassuring. “Relax, he’ll say yes.”

“How do you know?” She held back her desire to bite her nails. It was already perfectly manicured and coloured with blue, Sam’s favorite colour.

“I just know. Now go get him.”

Gaby walked out of the room, bringing the birthday cake with her. Sam was sitting on a chair in the restaurant, openly surprised at how grandeur the cake was. “Happy birthday!” she said, as the cart of the cake arrived in front of Sam. He smiled, kissing her lovingly on her lips. Now on to the next step.

On the top of the cake, sat a box, she took it, kneeling in front of Sam. “Sam Winchester, would you marry me?”

Sam gasped. She knew this wasn’t a conventional way to propose someone. Male dominant society meant that peers expected guys to propose rather than girls. But Sam was kind and patience, too patience, he’ll be an old man before he even _think_ about proposing.

She can’t stand the silence, and was about to head back when Sam kissed her passionately. Eyes tearing around the edges, that sap. “Of course it’s a yes! A million times yes, Gaby.”

Smiling, she began to plan the wedding day on her head. Napoleon and her going to be so busy this week with the plans.

\----------------------------------------------

-Illya-

Two decades from now, they were, surprisingly, still together. Illya was aging but Napoleon still looked the same. None of it mattered though. Illya was still Illya. Napoleon still constantly whispered in his ear that he was beautiful even with graying hair around his temple, holding him through the shuddering orgasm he had.

They were on vacation, right after thoroughly destroying a nest of rogue vampire who hid in Trunyan, a small village near Lake Batur in Bali, disguising themselves as locals. Now, as the bathed under the sun in one of the resort in Seminyak area, beautiful beach with creamy sand and ocean with cleared water, he looked at Napoleon’s face, calm and shined with the glow from the sunset. Napoleon turned his head towards Illya, smiling at Illya’s gaze and surged forward to kiss him, exploring his mouth thoroughly with the kind of slyness only he had…Illya was lost.

It was definitely _not infatuation_ , but maybe, just maybe, he dared to call what they had as love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, finally finished. Oh my god this is the longest fic I've written and it take so very long to make. I'm both glad and sad that it was over.
> 
> Things : 
> 
> Æsir : "...is the term denoting a member of the principal pantheon in the indigenous Germanic religion known as Norse religion. This pantheon includes Odin, Frigg, Thor, Baldr and Týr."
> 
> Vanir : the second pantheon after Æsir
> 
> Trunyan : a small village in Bali, Indonesia (it's my country haha. first time I've wrote it into a story). Trunyan communities have a tradition of funerals where the body was buried on a large stone which has 7 pieces of basin in it.
> 
> Their out-of-body experience was based on a dream I had, but not about them, in fact I dreamed that I was the ghost.

**Author's Note:**

> If you wanna chat : 
> 
> Twitter : @harukaryuumao
> 
> Tumblr : http://harukathedarkangel.tumblr.com/


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